PZA Boy Stories

Istari

Mastering Alex

Chapters 24-28

Chapter 24
The Life of the Party

The psychology of a slave is an amazing and complicated thing. It was such a simple act, shaving off those few soft hairs above Alexander's penis, yet its impact was profound. The boy was subdued and serious for the rest of the night, doing whatever he was told with a quick nod of his head, and a focused yet faraway expression in his eyes. Alex was still not permitted to speak, and so he did everything soundlessly.

Over the past few weeks I had become aware of a basic truth about my boy. The tougher I made things for him, the crueler and harder my treatment of him, the stronger he embraced it and the deeper was his submission. Things were escalating between us. We could both feel it.

In bed that night, I allowed Alex ten minutes to talk about the day and how the things we'd done and said to him had made him feel. A full day of pent up emotions and frustrations and madness just spilled forth.

"I messed up a lot today, didn't I?" he asked as he sat naked between my legs, my arms wrapped tenderly around his chest.

"Yes, you did," I replied. "But you were punished for it each time. I will never hold things over you, Alex. You mess up, you get punished, we move on. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Besides these were tough lessons today."

"Sure were. You know, I can't stop thinking about tomorrow 3; that's going to be hard, isn't it?"

"For you, yes. I plan on having a great time."

He shivered and moved closer. I pushed him away gently and onto his back. Freed of his belt, his cock, once again hairless, was sticking straight up, but he would not be cumming tonight.

"Spread your legs, Alex," I commanded.

With a soft voice he responded. "Yes, master."

"Roll over."

He did with a quiet, "Yes, sir."

"That's my boy."

I gave him a gentle spanking, just to re-light the fire of the paddle and cane from earlier. Then I entered him roughly, leaving him moaning and gasping into his pillow.

Michael woke us gently the next morning. He was already dressed in his travel outfit, jeans and a short-sleeved pullover, white runners on his feet. Collar and cuffs were in plain view, and beneath his clothes I knew he was bound and locked in chastity. He smiled at Alex and his bright blue eyes betrayed his excitement about the days ahead.

Normally energetic in the mornings, Alex seemed sluggish and wary. We showered together. He met my eyes with a shy and gentle expression, then bowed his head again and pressed himself against me. I rubbed my hands over his trembling shoulders and down the center of his back. The boy's penis was hard and he was gasping softly. I knew he desperately wanted me touch him. I kissed him on the forehead and turned off the water.

"Don't dry yourself. Stand there until your erection is gone, then come into the bedroom."

I left Alex there in the tub, hard and horny and shivering. He appeared a few minutes later, his soft five inches [12½ cm] swinging between his beautiful slender thighs as he walked toward me.

After letting him drip dry for a few minutes, I stood the boy in front of me and put him in his gear. Michael had delivered a new butt-plug courtesy his master, a much larger and thicker one than I'd used on Alex before. It took some grunting and groaning to work it up inside him. There was no way it could ever come out on its own. His leather jock went on next and then, of course, the pod. Alex seemed to be miles away already.

"Nervous?" I asked as I tightened his harness around his chest.

"Yes, sir."

"I am too. Hand me your cuffs."

Alex placed the ankle cuffs in my hands and I slowly and lovingly buckled them in place, running my hands up and down the boy's firm hairless legs, feeling the well packed muscles in his calves. We hadn't used the padlocks in a while, but for today it seemed appropriate, and I clicked them in place. We both liked the idea that the cuffs could not come off. His wrists received the same treatment. The boy presented his collar to me next, then knelt to receive it around his neck.

With one last click of a padlock it was done.

"Shirt and shorts," I ordered. "Then get your shoes on. No socks."

Alex dressed quickly, his hands shaking in nervous excitement.

"Take your time, sweetie," I said gently. "They won't leave without us."

My boy smiled and relaxed a little. When he was finished, he presented himself to me. I straightened his shirt and raised his shorts a little higher on his hips, revealing more of his sexy thirteen-year-old legs. His hair was just getting long enough to need brushing again, and so he did that with me looking on. I tossed him the gel and he quickly got it the way he liked.

"Do I look alright?" he asked, examining himself in the full-length mirror.

"Adorable. And very grown up."

Alex beamed. What boy doesn't like to heart that particular compliment? "Really?"

"Really."

"Can I have a hug, before we go?"

"You can always have a hug, Alex. Come here."

I drew him into my arms and we embraced. In that moment it struck me just how small and slender and fragile he was. Yes, he was strong and athletic, but he was still a boy. It would be so easy to really and truly hurt him, and there would be nothing he could do about it. Alex didn't have the strength to resist.

He must have sensed the dark cloud that suddenly came between us. He pulled back for a moment and stared at me.

"What's wrong?" he asked in a whisper.

"Nothing, Alex." I took his hands into my own. "Go get your gag, then we'll see about breakfast."

Robert had a large feast prepared in the kitchen, but not for all of us. For himself and for me it was fruit and bread, juice and coffee. For Michael and Alex it was pancakes and eggs and bacon, milk and juice.

"This will be the last real meal they eat for a while," our host explained as we allowed the boys to sit down with us at the table. "And as for you and I, we'll be quite stuffed before things wind down, so go light this morning."

Anxious and nervous, Alex at first picked at his food, but Michael tapped him on the arm and gave him a warm smile.

"Better eat all you can," he said in his soft but confident voice. "We'll need it."

With the older boy's example and encouragement, Alex dug in with renewed enthusiasm, drowning his large stack of cakes with strawberry syrup and swallowing his juice in large gulps. He was the only one without a coffee cup. Robert took one from the counter and set it in front of him.

"Want to drink like the grown-ups this morning, son?" he asked.

Alex looked at me with a smile. He'd had a few sips of coffee before, and I often put a little in his milk for him, but this was the real thing, strong and black and filling the kitchen with its nutty aroma. With my tacit approval he flipped the cup upright and Robert filled it to the rim. We all laughed when he wrinkled his nose at the first taste and forced it down his throat.

"When I think of all the other things he's had in his mouth lately 3;"

My boy glared at me playfully and joined us in our laughter. It felt good. And he did finish the entire cup, respectfully declining seconds.

Robert's garage was a source of wonder for Alex. Home to six of the shiniest most beautiful vehicles he'd ever laid his young eyes upon. There was a late model Jaguar, a vintage Mercedes, and several more modest but equally stylish cars all neatly parked in their bays. Our transport for this adventure however awaited us at the far end, an immaculately maintained black cargo van, likely a Dodge at some point, though it had been customized to such a degree that it had little in common with anything you'd find on the showroom floor.

"Let's get the boy's inside," Robert said as he unlocked the back doors.

Alex and I looked in together. Definitely not factory standard!

Thick rubber matting covered the floor and walls, and there were rings and hooks and chains dangling everywhere. There was a small iron cage and a restraining chair similar to those that lived in Robert's dungeon. Both pieces were secured to the floor with heavy braces and bolts.

Robert and I instantly came to an unspoken agreement, and he opened the cage door while I helped Alex climb up into the van. With my boy on his hands and knees, I worked his shorts off his slender frame, then his shirt. Only his shoes and leather remained.

"Get in there, Alex," I said softly, after I'd buckled the ball-gag in place.

Alex blinked once and crawled into the cage. He went in headfirst and quickly discovered there was no room inside for him to turn around, or sit or stretch. He would be on his hands and knees for the entire trip. I locked his wrist and ankle cuffs to the iron bars and Robert slowly closed the door. Alex actually jumped a little when he heard the heavy latch and the ratcheting click of the big lock.

Next Michael was placed in the chair and strapped down from toe to forehead. His fingers were about the only thing he could move. He was not gagged, and Robert turned the chair so he was looking directly at my boy in the cage.

"Keep an eye on Alex," Robert instructed him. "If it looks like he's in trouble, tell us right away. You may talk to him, but keep your voice down."

"Yes, sir."

Robert tightened the young man's straps a little more, causing Michael to moan softly under his breath. Together we then knelt down in front of Alex. The caged boy wiggled his shoulders a bit, then his hips, pressing them against the bars. I could tell by the look on his young face that Alex was zoning out again, as he often seemed to do. Robert snapped his fingers and clapped his hands. Alex focused his hazel eyes on us instantly.

"You're going to have a rough ride, kid," Robert said without exaggeration. "I'll take it slow, but you're going to have a few bruises by the time we get there. Keep your arms locked or else you'll knock your head against the bars. Don't want you blacking out now, do we?"

Alex shook his head and blinked his eyes twice. I worked my right hand between the bars and gently caressed his cheek. I gave him a little slap. "Mike will be watching you, don't worry. Just do what Robert says."

The boy straightened his shoulders and locked his elbows, then put his head down.

Robert and I stepped out and closed the rear doors. Moments later we were off. There was a dark curtain that separated the cabin from the cargo area. The silence from behind the curtain was strange. I knew my wonderful boy was back there, and I had to fight the urge to draw back the dark blue fabric and check on him.

"Let him be for a while," Robert said as we left the driveway. "Mike will tell us if anything goes wrong."

I turned back in my chair and watched the miles go by. For obvious reasons, Robert avoided the interstates and other heavily trafficked roads, instead winding us up and down and around the countryside lanes, always taking us generally north. Occasionally he would hit an unavoidable bump or pothole, which was immediately followed by a loud yelp or moan of protest from young Alex as he was smashed against the bars of the cage.

"You're not hitting those on purpose, are you?" I asked wickedly.

"Now why would I ever do a thing like that?" he replied with a knowing smirk upon his bearded lips.

We'd been on the road for about ninety minutes, when Robert pulled off onto a wooded drive. I'd thought his own private estate was a realm of opulence, but the elaborate mansion that loomed before us was simply breathtaking.

"I'm in the wrong business, Rob," I said with a laugh.

"No need to feel that way, Steven. You and Alex are my guests, and you'll both fit in nicely, I'm sure. Remember, if you're comfortable, Alex will be comfortable."

I took that to heart as I surveyed the large number of vehicles already parked along the edges of the circular driveway. There were custom models like Robert's, expensive luxury cars of all makes, sport vehicles, vans and pick-ups, some extraordinary, some deceptively plain. Clearly the party had already begun.

"I'm never the first to arrive, nor the last to leave," Robert explained. "I confess I do have some standing among these people, and a timely entrance is important. Good turnout today."

I could hear the soft distant sounds of a string quartet playing as we opened the rear doors of the van. Alex was leaning to one side of the cage and breathing heavily. The last hundred yards down the driveway had been particularly rough on him. Robert handed me the key and I worked the heavy lock open. The door swung on its hinges with a soft well-oiled creak.

"Don't move, boy," I said. I released his ankle and wrist cuffs, then reached into the cage and put my hands firmly around his hips. Slowly I backed Alex out of the cage. He did have the beginnings of a few bruises on his shoulders, but nothing serious. They'd just give him a little extra character. Having worn the ball-gag for so long, a trail of drool and spittle ran from his mouth and down onto the floor of the van. Alex looked at me with embarrassed eyes, but I knew he couldn't help it. I patted him on the head and Robert handed me a cloth before proceeding to release Michael. I wiped my boy down gently, and dried the outside of the gag.

"Stretch," I ordered as the boy stood on two feet for the first time in nearly two hours. Alex dutifully twisted and turned his narrow hips, and raised his arms above his head. He did a few toe touches, which made him look quite adorable with his cute little ass in the air. I gave that perfect target a few playful smacks.

"Save a bit for later, Steven," Robert laughed as he helped Michael out of the van. The older slave went through a similar but far more efficient and practiced round of stretches, his lean eighteen-year-old body already glistening with sweat. When the young man had finished, he bent over to remove his shoes.

I gave Alex a firm tug on his harness. "Help Michael get those off."

Robert nodded his approval, and young Alex quickly kneeled before his senior slave and untied the well-worn tennis shoes, removing them with great care, taking a moment to caress Michael's bare feet. The boy was reluctant to finish his task, but he did, then got up and placed the shoes neatly in the van.

With a silent command from his master, Michael reciprocated. He was exceedingly gentle, and looked up at Alex with a warm smile the entire time as he removed the boy's runners. Alex soon had that faraway look in his eyes again and a soft sigh escaped his throat. I curled a finger around the nearest ring in his collar and pulled him sharply back to reality. The boy blushed and gave me a contrite and embarrassed look.

"Stay focused, Alex," I warned him. "And stay close." He nodded his head. I kissed him on the cheek and we were ready. No lead for his collar. We'd discussed that before falling asleep in each other's arms the previous night. It was important to him that he prove he didn't need one. It was also a bit of a risk, but Alex is no fool, and he knows how to keep his eyes and ears open.

We followed Robert and Michael to the front door. Alex was at my right side, a half-step behind. I could feel his hand brushing against mine, and I could hear his anxious breathing.

Robert rang the bell, and the large door was quickly opened by a handsome teenaged boy with dark hair and deep brown eyes. The lad appeared to be a few years younger than Michael was, perhaps sixteen. Tall and slender, he wore a formal bow tie around his neck and a black coat with tails. And nothing else. His soft cock, thick and impressive, dangled between firm sinewy adolescent legs. His bare feet were large and gave him an adorably awkward look. The youth was well tanned, and he had a single golden ring in each ear. It was obvious from his expression that he recognized Robert immediately.

"Good afternoon, Thomas. You're looking well. A few inches taller, and longer I see."

The attractive teenager blushed. "Thank you, sir."

"Where is your master?" Robert asked, looking the boy up and down with his piercing gray eyes.

"In the garden, sir. He has been expecting you."

Thomas stepped to one side and gestured us into the house. His brown eyes were locked on Alex as the thirteen- year-old followed close behind me. It was the first of many stares young Alex would be receiving as the afternoon wore on.

The garden was reached through a door at the opposite end of the large well-appointed Georgian hall. We stepped out into a world of manicured terraces, fine sculpture, flowing fountains and soft music. Alex squeezed my hand gently, and together we shook our heads in amazement. One might have thought we'd stepped back into a more genteel past, but the presence of scores of young men and boys in leather, chains, or nothing at all quickly brought us back to our curious new reality.

Robert had told me weeks earlier that Alex, while the newest, would not be the youngest boy here, and he was correct. While youngsters were and are certainly rare in our little circle, a leisurely glance revealed numerous boys smaller and younger than my Alex, and at least one who appeared to be no more than eight or nine years old. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a quick flash of dark red, and there of course was Sebastian, standing at firm attention beside his master.

Samuel Collins was engaged in some polite debate with another gentleman in a rather expensive suit. The doctor himself was dressed casually, preferring to allow his young nephew the honor of attracting all the attention. And that he did, remarkably well. Sebastian was covered in a tight reddish-hued leather bodysuit that nearly matched the color of his hair. His hands were encased in leather mittens and his slender arms bound tightly to his sides by straps built into the suit. The boy's feet were bare, as they always seemed to be. He was not gagged, but it was clear from his rigid posture that he was under strict orders not to speak or respond in any way to anything said or done to him.

That was of course until he saw Alex. Then his intelligent young eyes lit up and he risked a little smile in our direction. Samuel caught him instantly, and after offering us a friendly gesture, he promptly gave the boy a hard smack on his little round rump to help him regain his focus.

"Come on, Alex," I said as I gave my boy a little swat of his own.

We hurried along to catch up to Robert, and soon found ourselves under a large pavilion where masters and slaves were mingling informally, and where food, and drink and music were found in abundance. Alex continued to be the object of long stares as we followed Robert through the lively crowd. Some stares were wicked and lustful, some hopelessly smitten by the thirteen-year-old's youthful yet masculine beauty, and most were simply appreciative of a young boy bravely entering a grown-up world for the first time and doing his very best to prove he belonged. I knew Alex could feel their admiration, and I could sense him standing a little taller as he walked close behind me.

A well-dressed middle-aged gentleman rose from a comfortable couch to greet us and took Robert's hand first. It was immediately clear that their association had been a long and fruitful one.

"So good to see you, Robert," he said in a thick but cultured voice. "Sorry you had to miss my last little soiree. It just wasn't the same without you, or Michael."

The young slave gave one of his trademark bows. Robert then introduced me to our host, using only his first name, as was the custom. Wim. Unusual and distinctive, and fitting for one who lived in such conspicuous luxury.

"No introduction necessary," he said and presented his hand to me. "Thomas and I are both fans of your writing."

I nodded in sincere gratitude, unaware I was known in such wealthy and influential circles.

"Robert tells me we should be expecting a novel from you shortly."

"If I can ever manage to finish it," I said, glancing at my little brother. "I've been rather distracted lately."

Wim's eyes fell on Alexander, and a warm smile crossed his face. He looked the bound, gagged, and belted boy up and down. Alex blushed, but stood straight and motionless by my side. "No wonder you can't concentrate. This must be Alex."

"He keeps my life interesting, that's certain," I replied, caressing the boy gently between his shoulders, and pushing him forward slightly so Wim could get a better look. "Stand," I said firmly.

Young Alex was in position instantly, his slim muscular legs spread wide, his hands clasped behind his head, his hazel eyes forward meeting those of our host.

"Very nice," Wim said after a soft whistle of admiration. He extended his hands, the tips of his fingers hovering just inches from the boy's smooth flesh. "May I?"

I could hear Alex take a sharp breath. "By all means," I replied.

Alex shuddered as the stranger's hands lightly and gently worked over his slender frame, dancing playfully over his bare skin. Wim pulled Alex yet closer and ran his fingers up and down the thirteen-year-old's back, pausing often to squeeze the boy's firm behind. Alex still had his hands behind his head. Wim found the end of the boy's butt- plug, held tightly in place by the thin leather strap. He gave it a quick tug.

"Got a nice little ass on you, boy," I heard him say. "I'll bet you just love getting it fucked."

Alex whimpered into his gag and his body stiffened as Wim moved his exploring hands over the boy's thighs and up between his legs, jiggling the metal pod that encased his genitals.

"Does he wear this often?" our wealthy host asked.

"Most of the time," I replied. Alex nodded his head and sighed quietly.

"And how old is he?"

"He turned thirteen less than a month ago."

Wim continued his examination. "Spread your legs a little farther, boy," he said.

Remembering the rules, Alex craned his head back and looked at me. His eyes were soft and pleading. In answer I reached out and smacked him twice on the ass. "Do as you are told, Lexi."

The boy spread his feet as far as he could without losing his balance. Wim again ran his hands over the kid's thighs, now taut and straining, before returning his attentions to the chastity belt and the seed pod. He let it rest in his palm.

"Hmm. There's already some weight inside," he said appreciatively, then looked over Alex' shoulder at me. "He must be hung like a horse."

"Well, at least a pony," I replied with a smile. Alex let out a soft giggle. I figured he needed something to lighten the mood, even if just for a moment.

Wim patted him on the thigh and sent him back to me. Alex immediately resumed his place at my side, and I felt the back of his hand softly touching mine. Once. Twice. Three times. Quietly I took it and he squeezed tightly. Alex let out a long-held breath. I turned to look at him and saw my boy's eyes were fixed on the ground, his chin nearly down upon his chest. My Alex was scared. I reached over and gently lifted his chin.

"Keep your head up," I said softly, but sternly. Then I took his hand again.

"You have a fine boy, Steven," our host continued. "I do hope we'll be seeing more of him later today. Make yourself at home. We have organized a little game of soccer for the youngsters. We'll be starting this afternoon on the south lawn. Alex is welcome to play. With legs like those 3; " Wim trailed off into a tender smile. "And of course we often choose a little one for our evening hunt. Perhaps Alex would like to be the quarry today."

Beside me, Alex jumped and shivered.

"Ah, he's already trembling," Wim observed good- naturedly. "He'll make fine prey."

The idea of a naked Alex being chased through the woods was rather appealing, and I promised Wim I'd consider it. We paid our respects then followed Robert and Michael a little further along through the terraced gardens, gaining introductions to many of his most valued associates, clients, and friends. There were, to my amazement, a few familiar faces among those gathered, people I'd seen on the news, people in power.

At first, I confess, Alex and I felt like poor cousins. And yet, everyone seemed to go out of their way to mingle in our direction and make us feel welcome. Some masters offered their hand to Alex, while others patted him warmly on the behind. I'd removed his gag, but he was still not permitted to speak. Several people tried their best to catch him off guard, but not once did my clever boy ever open his mouth. I was so proud of him. I actually hugged him, right there in front of everyone.

My eyes caught a few more boys I hadn't noticed before. None were so elaborately clad as Sebastian was in his neck- to-ankle leather bodysuit, and one teenaged lad was crawling naked on his hands and knees behind his master, leashed to the man's wrist. Finally I turned to Robert with the obvious question.

"How many boys are there? Real ones, I mean."

Robert's eyes danced and he flashed a wicked grin. "Enjoying the sights, are you? Well, I will tell you. At the moment there are eight we know of, including young Alex, that the law would consider minors, but several of them are among the most experienced slaves here. And many of the young men you see first came to gatherings like this as children. You are not the only one here with an attraction to boys, but you will learn that our chosen lifestyle often transcends age."

I nodded that I understood, and squeezed Alexander's hand a little more tightly as we walked.

"We do take great care with the young ones," Robert continued. His expression quickly darkened, and spoke to me softly so Alex wouldn't hear his equally dark words. "The ones we know about at least. People always assume when a boy disappears and never returns that he's been murdered. I suspect, and have seen some evidence that suggests otherwise. I have my theories, but proving them would endanger far too many lives."

I shivered at the mere thought of what Robert was implying. He quickly changed the subject.

"Enough of this. There is much for you to see, and much for Alex to learn. Michael and I have our own engagements to attend to. I trust, young man," he said, addressing Alex directly, "that you will keep yourself and your master out of trouble?"

Alex smiled and nodded his head, and with that Rob and Mike walked off leaving us alone in a crowd of strangers. His last words to me were delivered with a wink and a wicked smile. "You'll find some activities in the carriage house to keep the boy occupied."

And indeed we did, once we were pointed in the right direction. The carriage house, an old brick structure that I'm sure normally housed our host's exceptional collection of vehicles, had a different kind of machinery in it today. Crosses and frames and stocks and even a frightful medieval rack filled the many bays. Ten slaves were strapped and bound to them in every imaginable position, with their masters all looking on as they were methodically tortured by yet others. Whimpers and cries filled the air. It was a strangely musical and arousing sound. Another handful of slaves lined the back wall, chained to one another and to large rings in the floor. Unoccupied masters mingled and talked freely, awaiting the next round of activities.

Alex and I hovered near the door, captivated by what we were witnessing, and apparently unnoticed, for the moment. A thirteen-year-old slave does draw attention to himself though, without even trying. Before long a kind-faced and elderly master approached us and held out his hand to me. The grip was surprisingly firm and virile.

"Master Steven 3; and Alex, correct?" he asked softly. His voice betrayed years and years of smoking.

I nodded with rather dubious eyes.

"No need for suspicion. It is to our advantage to stay informed of new members, and particularly when a boy joins our little family. How are you today, Alex?"

I hadn't even learned this man's name yet, but somehow I trusted him, and, given his age, it also seemed only appropriate that Alex answer him directly, and politely. I gave my boy a gentle nudge and he promptly offered one of his flourishing bows. It had the same effect it always did on Robert, mainly a delighted smile and a soft chuckle from its recipient.

"I'm fine, sir," Alex then said, standing up again. "Thank you for asking."

"You are surprised that I would? A slave's feelings are important too, aren't they?"

"I guess so," my sweet boy replied quietly.

"You guess? A slave must not guess, boy."

"I mean, yes, sir," Alex stammered, quickly and deftly correcting himself. "They are important."

"I'm pleased you think so." The old gentleman, for that's what he was, smiled warmly at us. "I am Bartholomew 3; but you, young man," he pointed a playful finger at Alex, "will only ever call me sir. Clear?"

Alex stood up straight as an arrow. "Yes, sir!" he said strongly, then returned his elder's smile.

"He's adorable," Bartholomew said, patting the five-foot-tall [1.50 m] boy on the top of his head. He turned his soft experienced eyes to me. "I've been training slaves since before either of you were born, Steven, but this boy is special. I know them when I see them."

I couldn't find any argument with that.

"Care to put the little colt through his paces?" he asked.

Alex instinctively moved closer to me. Gazing down at him, there was that look of fear and desire in his eyes. I did not hesitate. "Absolutely."

"Do you have a preference?" Bartholomew asked as we scanned the room together, observing older and more experienced slaves enduring unbelievable tortures.

Finally I left it up to Alex to make the decision. Together we walked up and down the line of increasingly harsh devices. The rack in particular held the boy's fascination. A fit and muscular young man in his early twenties was it's current occupant. He was moaning softly into a heavy leather gag, and rolling his head from side to side. His back was arched, his lean hairless torso heaving with gaping breaths. The anguished look in his eyes forced Alex closer to me. The stretch in the young man's joints was a sight to behold. One more turn I'm sure and tendons would begin to snap.

Alex gave me that 'no way' look all thirteen-year-old's have mastered. Something in his expression told me that one day soon he'd do it, even ask for it, but not today. We moved on, my hands now gently resting on his shoulders. At our next stop, an older teen, perhaps Michael's age, was hanging with from his wrists and ankles. They were bound together behind him. Enormous leaden weights hung from his balls, and yet more from his nipples, pulling his most sensitive parts downward with ruthless and relentless force. The youth's head hung down in exhaustion so we could not see his face, but we could both hear his quiet sobs. Up and down this row of suffering and torment, things seemed to have come to a stop for a moment, but everything was set up so that the slaves remained on display the entire time.

"Guess everyone's gonna be watching me, huh?" Alex asked softly as we stood before a wooden bondage frame, it's current occupant suspended by his ankles. It was clear from his quiet moans and ample tears that the young man was being allowed to rest before he was taken down and replaced by another.

"That's the idea, Lexi."

The boy fidgeted nervously, but his eyes were carefully digesting everything around him. I knew this was a difficult moment for him. Up until now, everything we'd done had been in the familiar confines of home, or in the safe environment provided by Robert's dungeon. Alex had always been among those who loved him. Warmth and compassion surrounded him, even as he suffered. This was very different. Cold and detached, the calculated infliction of pain for pain's sake, as total strangers looked on.

I did not push him, but I did not let him quit and walk away. If this was the life he wanted, he would need to learn the darker truths about it. Finally he stood up as tall as he could and stepped a bit closer the frame nearest to us, the one with the young man still hanging by his ankles.

"This one," Alex said with boyish conviction. "Just like this. Upside-down and everything. Whip me good!"

Bartholomew smiled widely and laid a friendly hand on my boy's shoulder. "So eager. I like that. We'll see how you feel about things when I'm through with you." His voice was suddenly chilling, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of a fierce and stern-faced master. Alex eyed me with giddy terror. Robert had told me we would meet true sadists here, masters of their craft who would teach Alex about the depths of pain. Something in that kindly old man's expression told me my young charge was in for a very rough time.

"Would you remove his belt, please?" Bartholomew asked, as Alex trembled between us.

Pulling the keys from my pocket, I opened the padlocks and slowly removed the metal pod and leather jock, leaving them close by. His butt-plug remained. Alex sighed deeply as his boyhood was freed from its unforgiving constraints. Driven by fear and anticipation, and the large audience that was quietly assembling to watch him, the boy got hard instantly.

"Ah, the little man's excited. How sweet," Bartholomew said. "I'd like to keep him that way for a while, if you don't mind."

"By all means."

A thick leather strap was quickly and roughly tied around the boy's cock and balls, then looped again and again around the base of his throbbing young erection. Alex actually groaned when the knot was pulled taut. Already his penis was a dark red, and slowly turning purple. Tied off and separated, his balls were also taking on a colorful hue.

"Turn around, Alex," Bartholomew said. I noticed he almost always used the boy's name. A sign of respect he'd later tell me.

Alex did what he was told and presented his backside to the elderly master. His wrist cuffs were quickly locked together and a series of well-used leather straps were cinched tightly around his arms until his elbows were nearly touching. I could see the strain in his shoulders, as well as the painful grimace upon his sweet innocent face.

"Now sit down. Ask your master for help, if you need it."

With his arms bound and useless behind him, he did need help. I got him onto the floor, and he sat silent and shaking with his beautiful legs stretched in front of him. Bartholomew knotted thick heavy ropes through the rings in the boy's ankle cuffs then began to circle them around, distributing the pressure evenly. Alex was staring up with dancing eyes at the pulley system to which the ropes were already attached. His cock was so hard I thought it would burst.

After making a final check of the ropes for safety, Bartholomew knelt down beside Alex and gestured me to do the same. Once again his eyes and voice were those of a kindly grandfather, but I know they would not remain so for long.

"Listen to me very carefully, Alex," he said. "And keep your eyes forward. I want you to answer some questions for me. I will not repeat myself."

"Yes, sir."

"When was the last time you came?"

"Yesterday morning, sir."

"Do you need your master's permission to cum?"

Alex looked at me for an instant. "Yes, sir, I do."

He received a gentle smack for disobeying. "Eyes forward."

"Sorry, sir."

Bartholomew continued. "Have you been whipped before?"

"Yes, sir. Often. By my master."

"But never by someone who doesn't love you."

Alex shuddered. His answer was honest, and painful. "Yes, sir," he said with a trembling voice. "That's happened to me too. When I was very little."

Our newest friend seemed to melt when he heard that, but he gathered his emotions quickly. "This will be very hard for you. Do you have a safeword?"

The boy nodded and took a deep breath. "Yes, sir."

"Tell me."

"Butterfly, sir."

A gentle hand caressed Alex' shoulder. "It suits you. Did you choose it yourself?"

"Yes, sir, I did."

"Use it if you have to. There is no shame. I am going to hurt you very badly, you know that."

"I do, sir."

My sweet brave boy closed his eyes for a moment. "May I ask a question, sir?"

"Of course, Alex."

"Where will my master be, when it's happening?"

"Where would you like him to be?"

"Close, sir."

"I understand," Bartholomew said tenderly. "You need his touch, don't you?"

Alex nodded. It was beyond words.

"Let's get you into position."

All the boy could manage was a soft whimper of agreement. Immediately Bartholomew began to methodically pull on the ropes until there was a noticeable tug against Alex' feet. He stopped and double-checked everything, the ropes, the frame, at last making sure the boy's leather cuffs were snug and would not be digging in to his skin too harshly.

"Hold his shoulders, lift him gently," Bartholomew told me as he continued to take the slack out of the ropes. Alex' legs were already being raised off the floor. My boy sighed when he felt my hands, and he put his head back so he could look at me as I bent over to support him. He gave me a little smile to let me know it was all right.

The pulleys began to squeak as the ropes took more and more of the boy's diminutive weight. Soon I could feel Alex leaving the ground. His cute little rear end was in the air now. I was holding him tightly and lifting him slowly as the pulleys took him up. He wiggled a bit in my gentle grip, but with his arms trussed tightly behind him, he was quite helpless.

And then, after several slow minutes of starts and stops, Bartholomew gave one last hard pull, which straightened the boy's lean body and took his breath away. "Let him go," he said.

I did. And Alex swung free by his ankles.

Chapter 25
Suffering Artist

At first Alex just hung there, his head nearly twelve inches [30 cm] above the floor, but soon he began to writhe about, struggling to get his arms free, little cries issuing from his throat and a priceless look of fear in his young eyes.

"Calm down, Alex," Bartholomew said gently, running his hands over the boy's right leg. I did the same for his left. "You're perfectly secure. Don't be afraid."

Alex closed his eyes tightly. I put my hands on either side of his narrow hips and gave him a little push, watching him swing back and forth like a piece of meat on a hook. Several minutes were allowed to pass in this fashion, and then, at Bartholomew's instruction, I released the boy's arms and lowered them slowly. Alex' fingertips just barely grazed the floor. If you listened carefully enough, you could just hear them scraping. Finally I removed the harness, exposing his chest and back.

"Just one more thing," Bartholomew said, "and we'll be ready."

One more thing' was a wooden yoke, square and hinged and about two feet [60 cm] long on every side with a sizeable hole for the neck.

"An antique from China," Bartholomew explained. "I'm quite proud of it." He opened it by its single ornate hinge and fitted it carefully around Alexander's slender neck. "Don't panic," he told him soothingly, as Alex tensed and struggled once more. "It has some weight to it, but it won't choke you. Just as with your master, you will always be safe with me."

Bartholomew clicked the lock in place on the opposite side, and Alex was now yoked. Aside from its obvious humiliating affect, it would also prevent him from moving his head or looking up to see what was happening to him. Alex could only gaze straight ahead at the unfamiliar faces of masters and slaves he'd never met.

"Try to open your eyes, Alex," I heard Bartholomew say.

I knelt down a bit and saw my boy's beautiful hazel orbs flutter open. Hanging upside-down, his surroundings must have seemed strange and disorienting. Normal things take on a very different impression when one's perspective has changed so dramatically. Alex blinked rapidly at first and moved his eyes quickly from side to side. The boy discovered he could turn his head in the yoke from left to right, he just could not move it up or down.

And then, suddenly, he broke into a wild fit of laughter. At first I thought the boy poor boy was freaking out, and by the reaction of others in the room I wasn't the only one, but then his laughing died down to a boyish giggle and he told me, "Everyone looks so funny! All upside-down like that!"

"Sweetie, you're the one 3;"

"I know, I know," he said with thirteen-year-old aplomb, "but it helps if I think of it the other way around."

My clever Alex.

Bartholomew selected a long knotted cat and stood before the boy. All Alex could see of him was his booted feet. It was a strange scene. This man was not quite old enough to be our grandfather, but still the contrast between the gray-haired master and the hairless young boy was striking.

"Alex, I'm going to whip you now. As hard and as long as I wish. The only thing that will stop me is your safeword. It is my intention to make you use it. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," came a brave but truly frightened response. The boy's cock was painfully erect, kept in that state by the leather strap tied tightly around it.

Bartholomew turned his eyes to me. "Does the boy have permission to cum?"

"He does," I said without hesitation.

"Then he shall."

It began with a few gentle and loving strokes of Alexander's penis administered by firm, expert hands. The boy shivered and moaned as the pleasure washed over him. Tied off as it was, his cock had swollen to an unnatural thickness, such a large organ for such a lean and slender boy. His young hairless balls had turned a nice shade of purple. Bartholomew gave them each a firm squeeze as he continued to force Alex' foreskin up and down over the dark, glistening crown. The boy's juices were flowing freely, as they always did when the little man got excited. A single line of clear pre-cum was dangling from the tip of his cock, hanging in mid-air, working its way slowly toward the ground. The boy's breathing was coming in raspy pants now, and he was moaning loudly. He was getting close.

Bartholomew stopped just short of letting Alex cum. Then he went to work with the cat. It whistled through the warm humid air and cracked sharply against the boy's stomach. No gentle introductions, instead a hard and cruel and excruciating demonstration of pain that was only just beginning. Alex gasped and moaned, but did not cry out. Bartholomew gave him another one, even harder than the first.

Alex grunted and hissed through clenched teeth.

Another one, across his chest. This one leaving immediate welts. And another immediately after, wrapping the lashes of the cat around his thighs.

The boy writhed sharply in his bonds and moaned again, the pitch of his voice quite a bit higher than before.

"Think you're not going to cry for me, don't you, Alex?" Bartholomew asked in a tone that somehow reflected both softness and extraordinary malice.

Alex just hung there in silence for a moment. Then I heard him whisper, "I won't ever cry for you, sir," under his breath.

A blatant challenge from a thirteen-year-old boy. Bartholomew's eyes lit up with a purposeful fire. I knew Alex had just made a big mistake. 'Never dare a sadist,' would become one of his favorite sayings, a lesson well and painfully learned this day.

The cat sang in the air once more, cracking against the boy's abdomen. Alex screamed for the first time, loud and high and piercing. The scream of a boy. The scream of a child. Soon his screams were coming in quick succession, the echo of the last not quite dying before the next took its place, and always accompanied by the sound of nine slender strands of leather upon tender young skin. The boy's front side, from his thighs to his chest, was covered in dark red lines and angry welts. Alex was heaving and gasping and groaning between shrieks of agony. He flinched instinctively now, every time he heard the whistle and snap of the leather.

For me, simply standing there, observing his suffering, rather than inflicting it myself, was a profoundly difficult, yet profoundly satisfying experience. I knew, every bit was well as Alex himself did, that he could twist me and turn me in practically any direction he liked. Alex was the master where those kinds of things were concerned. When he wanted it hard, he worked it out so he got it that way, delivered by my own loving hands. When he wanted it soft, the same. Being aware of the fact did little to change it.

This was different. Bartholomew was not going to play the boy's clever little games. All three of us knew it, although Alex was likely the last to figure it out. He clenched his fists tightly as Bartholomew walked around behind him, allowing the cat to drag along the floor. Just the sound of it was enough to leave the boy shaking.

Before the blows resumed, Bartholomew reached around and again took the thirteen-year-old's penis into his hands. This time the strokes were harsh and fast, his grip tight and unrelenting. Alex whined plaintively as his sensitive young cock was roughly abused. Of course with the yoke around his neck, he could not look up to see what was happening, but he could feel those cruel invisible hands working his most tender flesh. I could tell by my boy's weak, almost frantic groans, that he was not enjoying himself very much.

"Why aren't you cumming, Alex?" Bartholomew asked in a wicked voice. He slapped the boy's cock, hard. Alex yelped and wiggled his hips, earning him yet another slap. I thought I heard the first little sob issue from his throat, but Bartholomew wanted more. He picked up the cat and began working on the boy's backside. A new round of screams began.

It was not savage or violent as one might expect, and that, of course, was the secret of its great cruelty. Slow. Cold. Controlled. Meticulous. Each blow an individual work of art by the master handling the lash, each designed to inflict maximum pain with minimal force. I watched them carefully, the aging sadist and the child masochist as they slowly lost themselves in their natural roles. With every scream, every high-pitched little wail, every mournful whimper, it seemed Alex was speaking in a language all his own, one very few would ever understand. Most would turn away in pity, but Bartholomew only increased the frequency and severity of the lessons he was administering.

All the while the boy's erection remained in plain view, dripping and throbbing.

Bartholomew finally tossed aside the cat and selected a long, fearsome whip. Alex, naturally, could not see it coming, but he did sense it. I watched him tense as it was drawn back for the first time. It tore into his back with unbelievable force, causing the boy to jerk and swing violently in his bonds. There was no scream, for the pain had taken Alex' breath away.

I walked round behind the frame and could see the slender welts and deep bruises left by the cat. The first mark of the whip was also there, right across the small of his back, red as fire. Then it snapped through the air again, landing on the boy's badly beaten behind, already a deep shade of crimson. I watched for several more minutes as the whip did its work. Bartholomew was less swift with the blows now, allowing the boy more time to recover. It was a small gesture of tenderness I suspected he would not have given for one older or more experienced.

Still Alex was close to hysterics. And he was indeed crying, fitfully, desperately. It was a strangely beautiful sound, echoing through the large building. I suddenly noticed that it was the only sound I could hear. Everything else had stopped, and those present, masters and slaves alike, were watching the boy's ordeal in utter silence. Alex hung there by his ankles, battered and beaten and sobbing, and we all knew it was not over.

Bartholomew did not gloat over his victory; rather, he acknowledged the boy's tears with a gentle loving squeeze of his cute young feet. Alex sniffled and whimpered. Then the cat was drawn up again to rain its master's fury down upon the helpless boy with renewed vigor.

"Ahhaaa," Alex groaned. "No. No, please stop. Please."

The first coherent words Alex had managed to say in quite some time.

And another round of blows swiftly and harshly delivered.

"Please! It hurts so bad!"

Bartholomew stopped, but only to look at me from behind Alex' bruised and welted body. The boy glistened with sweat, and he was swinging gently forward and back on the ropes, a residual motion from the brutal force of the last blow. His slender arms dangled limp and lifeless, his fingers grazed the floor.

"Master Steven, your boy is making far too much noise. If you would be so kind as to gag him, we will continue."

I'd set the ball-gag aside earlier. It was there with the rest of his gear, not far from the frame. I picked it up and knelt down in front of him. The boy's eyes were swollen from exhaustion and filled with anguish.

"Please don't," he begged me softly, but he did not resist as I opened his mouth and stuffed the ball inside. I reached behind his head and buckled the straps tightly. He wiggled in protest as best he could, and then Bartholomew did indeed continue, once again with the whip. It curled around his thighs, and cracked against his back, forcing a new chorus of anguished cries from the boy's throat. The brief pause seemed to have given Alex his lungs back, and he screamed under the lash with renewed strength.

When finally the boy was reduced to sobs and whimpers, Bartholomew cast the whip aside and took the thirteen-year-old's swollen cock into his hands again. Alex hissed and cried out through his gag. He writhed and shook violently in his bonds. With his nerves whipped raw and his mind flashing with pain, the mere touch to his penis was electric. Before long, Bartholomew had the boy grunting and gasping and curling his toes.

"You're going to cum now, Alex," he said softly.

And he did. Alex let out a frantic little wail, muffled by the gag, then shot his young sperm in violent spasms. The boy's entire body shuddered as the contractions of ejaculation swept over him. Then his muscles went limp and he hung there, spent and panting and crying quietly to himself.

His was not the only voice. I was suddenly aware of a rising chorus of murmurs and whispers, all in praise and appreciation of this brave young boy, my brother, my slave. I'd quite forgotten that Alex had drawn a crowd, lost just as he was in his exquisite torment. Now I turned and faced them and met the approving gestures of other masters. Several stepped forward and shook my hand, congratulating me on training Alex so well and so quickly. Then they would pause and gaze at the slender boy suspended by his ankles, admiring the colorful collection of bruises and welts that covered him from his chest to his ankles. Blue and purple and deep red, Bartholomew had used the boy's body as a living canvas for his special art, and Alex, who would wear those marks with pride, was still sobbing, softly.

With an unspoken gesture, Bartholomew indicated it was time to get the boy down. The yoke come off first. Quite a bit of the boy's cum had fallen upon it. The boy's genitals were untied next, the release of pressure allowing one last tiny stream of sperm to dribble out. I removed his gag. He'd bitten down so hard from the pain that it bore the marks of his teeth from that day forward.

"No talking," I told him, but I knew my Alex was incapable of words at the moment. A little moan was the only sound he made.

Beaten and battered as he was, getting him upright again proved a difficult task. He cried out for a moment and struggled against my touch as I gently lifted his neck and shoulders, bending him at the waist, his legs still above his head. Once I had him under control, Bartholomew released the ropes and slowly lowered him to the ground.

Alex gasped when his backside first touched the cold floor. He lay there quietly, with his arms at his sides, wiggling his fingers and clenching them into loose fists, staring up at the bondage frame, blinking his beautiful eyes in a slow thoughtful rhythm. I'd seen him perform this ritual before at the end of our scenes, his way of absorbing all that had happened and calming himself. I knelt beside him and ran my hands gently through his hair, soaked with sweat. I kissed him on his sweet little nose and he smiled for me.

"You really are something," I said. And I meant it. Alex slowly moved his arm toward me, and I took his hand. He closed his eyes and held on tightly. I thought about that light and unsure grip I remembered from five years ago, when I first took him back home, and how so much had changed. I gave his hand a firm squeeze and he squeezed back.

Bartholomew stood over us both, and again he was the kindly gentleman we'd first encountered. "We should get him on his feet," he said to me gently. "Have the boy walk around, then you can lay him down for a while. There are suites on the second floor, I'll see that one is made ready for you."

Alex gave no sign of protest as we slowly sat him up. His breathing had slowed to a less frantic pace now, but it was still quick and shallow.

"Deep breaths, Alex," I said. "Take your time."

Once he seemed to be more in control, Bartholomew and I each put a hand under his arms and raised him to his feet. Alex groaned and winced, and he swayed awkwardly from side to side, his beautiful legs barely able to support his weight. I rubbed his shoulders. He leaned his head back against my chest.

"Come on, sweetie, walk around." I pushed Alex gently to get him moving. I kept a close eye on him but let him choose his own course. He walked around the bondage frame, studying it with tired young eyes, casually running his fingers over the wooden supports. It seemed to hold more of a fascination for him now than it had before. Alex bent over slowly, grimacing from the pain, and picked up the cat-o-nines where Bartholomew had dropped it. It was slightly longer than the one he and I always used, the leather straps a bit thinner, the knotted ends a bit smaller and tighter. Holding the grip in his left hand, he gently played the straps around his thighs and over his cock and balls. He inspected it closely, fingering the leather and feeling its weight in his hand. Finally with a self-satisfied nod, he put it back on the empty hook on the wooden frame and made his way back to me.

During this time Bartholomew had disappeared, and I noticed so too had all of Alex' gear. I was just taking the boy gently into my arms when the old gentleman returned. I spun my boy around tenderly to face him, but I still kept my arms around his shoulders, noticeably broader than they had been at the start of this wild and amazing summer neither of us would ever forget.

The experienced sadist stood before my tired young masochist and offered his hand. Alex took it with a smile, sincere, if weakened by exhaustion.

"You've got mettle, young man," Bartholomew said. "I nearly broke a sweat. Next time there will be no holding back. Clear?"

With wide awestruck eyes Alex slowly nodded his head.

Bartholomew then handed me a key. "Upstairs, third door on your right. I've taken all his things up already. You'll find some lotions for him on the nightstand. Take as long as you like. The room is yours for the duration. There's always something going on, so don't worry about missing any of the fun."

I handed the key to Alex and then took his hand. Together we headed for the stairs at the far end of the carriage house. There were still a few masters and slaves loitering about as we retired, and of course the collection of naked young men chained to the wall. None of them had moved since we arrived.

"I enjoyed hearing you scream, Alex," Bartholomew said darkly from behind, firing his last calculated blow at the boy. Alex trembled and turned his head for just a moment. I didn't see my boy's eyes, but I did see Bartholomew's, and I knew that a challenge had just been made and accepted. Alex didn't say a word. He pressed his sore and tired body against me, as close as the pain would allow, and I helped him stagger up the steps.

Our room was indeed a suite, with a comfortable sitting area, a spacious bathroom with sunken tub, a modest kitchenette, and of course a large bedroom. It was softly lit throughout and decorated in a modern style with sleek, clean-lined furniture and contrasting colors. We both smiled at each other when we entered, for it was clear Bartholomew had chosen this room specifically for its bright d‚cor, a perfect fit for a thirteen-year-old boy.

"Would you like a bath first?" I asked, as I held his head against my chest, fingering one of the silvery rings on his collar. He looked up at me and blinked his tired eyes once. I pulled gently pulled him along and he followed me into the bathroom.

"Start the water, Alex."

He did. The steam began to rise immediately.

"Undress me."

He did. Sore and covered in bruises and welts, he did. I was hard and dripping instantly.

"Do you want this?" I asked, taking the boy's hand and wrapping it around my cock. He nodded slowly and a little tear ran down his cheek.

"Kneel."

That was harder for him. He winced and whimpered as he dropped to his knees.

"Pleasure your master."

Words Alex had heard from me before, but never after he had endured so much pain or been so completely worn out and exhausted. He took me into his mouth. It was dry from screaming, but his tongue was soft and warm and wonderful. A small chorus of muffled boyish groans began as he worked my cock deeper and deeper down his throat. I could tell he was tired and struggling just to stay on his knees, but he did his best. I laid my hands on his shoulders and massaged him gently.

"Don't let me cum, save it for later."

"Mmmmph."

For several minutes he kept me on the edge, until I finally had to make him stop. I helped him stand up again and drew him close, careful not to hug him too tightly. Still he whimpered when I put my right arm around him. I reached down and cupped my left hand around his balls, kneading them in their loose hairless scrotum. He shuffled his feet and moved closer, enduring the silent anguish of his welted skin pressed again mine. Another whimper came as I gently brushed against his soft penis. It twitched involuntarily. I laid Alex' five inches [12½ cm] of flesh across the palm of my hand and gently rubbed it with my thumb. Still velvety soft like a boy's should be, but thick and substantial, a beautiful organ for a beautiful young man of thirteen.

I raised his tired eyes to my own and kissed him on the lips. His tongue danced playfully with mine as I let his penis flop back down against his balls and worked my hand delicately over his stomach and chest, causing him to take a sharp breath. I stopped to play with his nipples. They hardened instantly at my light touch. Then I bent over and took the left one into my mouth.

"Aaahh," he sighed as I bit down gently.

After both were given the same treatment for several minutes, I stood over him again, still nearly a foot [30 cm] taller than the growing boy.

"Bend over, Lexi."

He did, and I gently tugged on his butt-plug, loosening him a bit first before I pulled it out with a single motion. Alex grunted and gave me a high-pitched little squeal. As always, cleaning the plug was his responsibility. He took it to the sink and washed it off without having to be told. By the time the boy was finished, the water was warm and steamy in the sunken tub. I fished my keys from the pocket of my jeans, lying crumpled on the floor, and unlocked the boy's cuffs. Alex stood as straight and still as he could, but his young body was quivering now from exhaustion. I set the boy's restraints aside, and last removed his collar.

"Get in the tub, sweetie."

Alex stepped in gingerly, giving me a good look at the deep bruises that covered his behind and the backs of his thighs. The welts on his back were already fading a little, turning from their angry red to a soft pink. He didn't quite know what to do with himself once he was in the water. Sitting down was not something he'd be able to do for quite some time.

I got in after him, then gently pulled the boy down in front of me, setting him between my legs, letting him rest his tortured back against my chest. He sighed and lay his head back onto my shoulder. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing soft and quiet. I rubbed his arms and held his hands.

After a leisurely soak, I got him up and dried him off with great care. Then we walked hand in hand to the bedroom. I lay him across the bed on his stomach. He looked at me with hopeful, loving eyes. I lay down beside him for just a moment, caressing his back. Alex winced and whimpered and let out a long sigh.

"Are you alright?" I asked. "I want the truth."

The boy nodded slowly into his pillow. I ran a finger softly around his ear, then massaged the back of his neck. There was a bottle of lotion on the small table beside us. I squeezed a liberal amount into my hands and worked it slowly into his back. It smelled faintly of sweet pine, and Alex breathed in the vapors deeply. He flinched now and again at my touch, but I was careful to be light and gentle with him, applying the cooling, healing lotion, and pausing often to hold his hand.

When the boy was nearly asleep, I squeezed his shoulder firmly and left the bed. "Don't move," I told him. Alex let out one of those ironic little laughs that only boys of thirteen can manage convincingly. Briefly I explored the bedroom, not at all surprised to find the large mahogany armoire filled with all variety of fun toys for use on a young slave. I selected a rather mean looking dildo, thick and twisted with a large bulbous end. And then a harsh pair of nipple clamps for later.

Alex was breathing softly when I returned, but I saw his eyes flutter and knew he was still awake. I raised his head, tenderly but firmly, and took the pillow away. He dropped his head weakly onto the mattress and I worked the pillow under his stomach, raising his rear end a bit higher. The old bed creaked as we moved around, and he moaned softly. Instinctively he spread his legs, and I gave the backs of his thighs a little pat of affection.

"Good boy," I said, as I lubed the dildo, making sure a few drops fell onto his back, just to let him know what was coming. I held the frightful looking thing before his tired eyes as he lay with his head turned to one side. "Do you want this?" I asked.

I honestly couldn't tell if the muffled sound that escaped was a yes or a no, but of course his answer would not have changed anything. My index finger was nice and slippery from the lube, and I stuck it into his quivering boy-hole, all the way down to the knuckle, with no resistance at all. The larger plug had opened him nicely, and I worked one, then two, then finally three fingers inside him. Alex wiggled and groaned, then gave me a plaintive little cry when I pulled out. I moved close and licked my tongue around his opening, enjoying the fragrant musky smell of a very young teenaged boy.

Alex gasped and trembled. My tongue had touched just about every part of his body over the past two months, but this was something new and exciting. I only gave him a few brief seconds of this pleasure, just enough to make him long for it when it was taken away. From the sound he made, I knew he was not happy that I stopped.

"You have to earn your pleasure from now on, Lexi," I said sharply. "Pain on the other hand 3;" And I forced the dildo inside him. His head left the mattress and he screamed in agony. It was an enormous prong for a boy so young to take, but seven of its ten inches [18 of 25 cm] were quickly inside him, its thick round head no doubt causing endless torment to his already over-stimulated prostate. I left it in him like that for a minute or so while I worked my hands roughly between his legs and played with his cock and balls.

"Don't you dare get hard," I told him, knowing it was an impossible demand to make of a thirteen-year-old boy. Which was, of course, exactly why I said it.

For the next half-hour I casually abused him with the dildo. Sometimes hard and fast, causing him to writhe and sob and shout, sometimes slow and gentle, causing him to moan and coo in delight, sometimes just leaving it in him, making him wonder when it would start again. After that first thirty minutes, as he lay panting and trembling, I once again reached beneath him, and there, of course, I felt a six-inch [15 cm] hard boy-cock pressed and throbbing against the pillow.

"What did I tell you?" I scolded him a low menacing voice. "You will be punished."

"I can't help it, master," he said, his newly pubescent voice crackling awkwardly.

Immediately I gave him a hard spanking, the dildo still inside him driven yet deeper as my hands rained down upon his already bruised and welted behind. I only gave him twenty, but in his current state it was enough to drive him into a new round of frantic screams and cries.

"That was for speaking without permission," I explained after he'd calmed down. "We'll deal with your erection later." I pulled the dildo out of him and let it fall onto the floor with a thud. Without allowing him a moment's pause, I entered him and gave my boy a good long fuck. The only sounds around us were the creaking of the bed and his soft moans as he lay beneath me. I sped up as I got closer to the edge, and soon we were both panting and groaning. Alex was grinding his slender hips into the pillow. I knew what he was doing, and he'd have to pay a price for it later, but for now we were both deeply and truly lost in one another. I felt Alex' muscles tense as I came inside him, and he cried out as he spilled his seed, his second orgasm of the day.

I pulled out and rolled him onto his back. His cock, already softening, flopped against his thigh, five inches [12½ cm] of horny, beautiful thirteen-year-old flesh, wet and shiny with his young juices. Alex looked at me with dancing eyes. I crawled closer to him and presented my cock, close to his face.

"Clean it."

Bless his young heart, he was actually confused. He looked around for a rag. I moved myself closer until my dick was almost touching his lips. Then he understood and his eyes filled with dread.

"Use your tongue, Lexi."

This was clearly something he did not want to do, but he bravely raised his head and opened his mouth. I felt is warm wet tongue lapping timidly against my cock. The mere thought of him licking his own shit and my cum off the flesh that had just been used to roughly fuck him was quite a turn on. I grabbed a handful of his short chestnut-brown hair, damp with sweat, and pressed myself yet closer.

"You'll have to do better than that."

I felt the boy suppressing a gag, and then he went to work with renewed focus. His eyes were tightly closed. I could tell Alex was hating every moment of this, but he did it, because he was a slave, and his master had given him an order. After a few minutes, I gently pushed him away. My dick was wet with Alex' saliva, and perfectly clean. His hands were shaking as he stared at me. There was a look of shock, and even, was it, yes, a little anger, on his sweet young face.

"You hate me right now, don't you?" I asked.

He turned his face away from me.

"Answer me when I ask you a question, Alex. Speak."

His voice was low and quiet when he finally answered. "Yes, sir."

"'Yes, sir', what?"

"Yes, sir, I hate you right now."

"Good. How does that make you feel? Hating me."

Alex was silent for a moment. Then he turned his beautiful eyes on me once again. They were blazing. "Makes me feel like I want to tell you to fuck off and leave me alone, or something like that."

"Then why don't you?"

"You know why," he answered sharply.

"Watch that tone, young man. Tell me why."

"Because I'm a slave. It doesn't matter if I love you or hate you. I'm your slave." The emphasis on 'your' was unmistakable.

"And I can do whatever I want to you, can't I?"

"Yes, sir."

"Lie down on your back."

He did. I took the nipple clamps from the side table and crawled over him so that we were face to face. Alex was still so small and slender beneath me. Leisurely I rubbed the boy's little dime-sized nubs, suckled them and bit down gently. They were hard and glistening with moisture when I opened the first of the clamps and closed it slowly around his left nipple. Alex hissed and jerked wildly beneath me. A firm hand on his chest made him lie still again. I placed the second clamp in the same fashion as the first. They were a rather nasty set, with tiny metal teeth designed to dig into the soft pink flesh.

"Do they hurt?" I taunted cruelly.

"Awwwwhahh, goddammit, yes!" Alex thrashed his head from side to side as tears began to run from his eyes. I sat back, resting my weight on the boy's shapely legs, watching the taut lean muscles in his stomach contract has he struggled to breathe against the pain. I circled my fingers around his cute little navel, sending the ticklish boy into spasms of anguished laughter. In that moment his body seemed so tight I thought he might snap, every muscle was tensed and hard as steel. In fact only one part of his anatomy was soft at the moment, and I had to smile at that.

I worked his balls for a while, rolling them around in my hands, kneading them gently, squeezing them with just enough pressure to cause him a bit of pain. They had always hung nice and low in their loose velvety sack, even when he was eight or nine years old they'd dangle around sexily between his little legs. Now they were heavy, and he had reached that age where they seemed to be growing larger and hanging lower each and every day. I licked them and took one then the other into my mouth. Alex gasped in delight and spread his legs a little wider, always my signal that I'd given him enough to leave him desperate and frustrated.

With the clamps still in place, I worked on his bare feet for a while, alternating between gentle loving massages, and fierce relentless tickling, the combination of which left the boy in a state of near panic. I ended by kissing each of his ten young toes.

"Take a deep breath, sweetheart," I said, as I took the clamp on his right nipple between my fingers. Alex locked his eyes on me and obeyed. I removed it quickly, the harsh gripping metal teeth releasing their hold. I expected a shout or a cry, but all the boy could manage was an exhausted whimper. The other clamp came off in the same manner, eliciting the same response. I kissed him on the cheek, placed the pillow still wet with his cum beneath his head, and covered him with the sheets and blankets.

"Get some rest, Alex," I said. The boy was already asleep by the time I reached the sitting room. I could hear him moaning softly through the open door.

It was just early afternoon, yet it seemed we'd been here a full day already. Alex and I had both noticed from the very start of our new lifestyle that time moves at a different pace when one is deeply involved in a scene, something we would often comment on as the years went by. There would be times when minutes spent in the dungeon turned out to be many long hours, and others, when the pain was new or particularly hard for him, where hours were really but a few minutes.

Alex definitely needed some down time though, so I contented myself with a warm cup of tea from the little kitchenette, and a leisurely rest on the sofa, scanning several of the photo books laid out for the guests' enjoyment. I was about to drift off myself, when I heard a polite knock on the door. I set my tea aside and opened it to find Robert and Michael with warm, knowing smiles on their faces, and beside them Samuel Collins and young Sebastian. Stark naked young Sebastian I might add. The eleven- year-old boy was on all fours and wearing only a studded leather collar around his slender neck. He was leashed to a decorative bracelet around his master's wrist.

I gestured them all inside, Robert and Michael first, Sam with his redheaded nephew in tow. As the boy passed me on his hands and knees, I got a nice look at a cute pale little ass, currently plugged, and a set of tiny but low-hanging balls swinging in a soft pink scrotum. A glint of metal caught my eye and I had to look again. There was a golden ring piercing Sebastian's scrotum. Quite alluring, but I did not yet know it's true significance. This was the first time I had ever seen Sebastian naked, and my first chance to truly appreciate the delicate vine of barbed wire tattooed around his narrow waist. Normally it was hidden by the locking leather shorts, which Samuel seemed to keep the boy in at all times. I whistled in admiration. Rob and Sam both smiled. I'd already made up my mind that Alex wasn't leaving here without a bit of Samuel's artwork somewhere on his young body. Something small and inconspicuous so he wouldn't be embarrassed, but something that would always serve to remind him that he was a slave.

Robert took the comfortable chair I offered, and Samuel followed suit. Michael knelt humbly at his master's side, relieved it seemed to be off his feet, which I later learned had been beaten quite ruthlessly earlier in the day. Samuel tugged firmly on Sebastian's leash, and the boy stood up. Like Alex he's a muscular little kid, although just barely four feet [1.20 m] tall. Shapely arms and sturdy legs, and a lean flat stomach, clearly the product of strict diet and stricter exercise.

Sebastian stood with his feet wide apart, and his hands clasped behind his back. Samuel released the boy's leash and let it hang free from his collar. Surveying him from head to toe, I paused at his little boy-cock. Well, not so little actually, average size for a boy of eleven I suppose, but I had grown so accustomed over the last few years to Lexi's rather large endowment, that even a healthy youngster like Sebastian appeared small by comparison. He was circumcised, and pierced, and I quickly realized the ring in his scrotum was also the same one I was looking at now at the tip of his penis.

"A little chastity piercing," Doctor Collins explained. "Simple and effective. Take a closer look if you like. Seb."

Immediately the boy moved closer to me. I knelt down to examine his hairless genitals. The ring was small, only about a half inch [1¼ cm] in diameter. It was open on one end, so it clearly could be removed whenever Samuel wished. It had the effect of pulling the boy's cock downward and under his balls just a bit. Erection was simply impossible and orgasm out of the question.

The pants. The ring. Sebastian was being raised in total chastity. I stared at Samuel in amazement, and just a little dismay. It was not something I would ever choose for Alex. I might threaten him with it on occasion, to put some fear into him, but never actually dream of doing it, or imagine that it could be done.

"He uses it for only one thing," the doctor said with a satisfied grin. "Sebastian, what is your penis for?"

The boy stood up straight and looked his master in the eye. "For urinating, sir."

"Anything else?"

"No, sir."

"I remove the ring once a week," Collins went on to explain, "and make him keep an erection for four or five hours 3; "

I wondered just exactly how that was done.

" 3; I want to make sure he can still get hard, not that he'll ever have any reason to."

There is a dark side to Samuel Collins that shows forth at certain times. At the moment he was actually beginning to frighten me, just a little. But then he smiled and pulled Seb onto his lap and gently rubbed the boy's back.

"Of course once he starts having wet dreams, I'll have to be a bit more flexible, but it's just a habit I'm training him in."

They embraced and shared a loving kiss, then Sam quietly ordered the boy back on all fours, which is how he would remain for the rest of the day. Seb was adorable, and we all gave him a little smile, which he happily returned. Robert then rested his gray eyes on me.

"Everyone is talking about Alex' performance with Bartholomew this morning. Is it true he didn't use his safeword?"

I nodded, only just now appreciating the boy's rather incredible feat of strength and bravery. "It's true."

"Amazing. I should tell you the young man has quickly become a celebrity here. Everyone is asking when they'll be seeing him again. Wim would like to introduce him to the group this evening, before the hunt, naturally."

The hunt. The twinkle in Robert's eyes told me Alex would be more than just the guest of honor. I looked back into the darkened room where my sweet boy lay sleeping. The debate in my heart was real. I wanted the boy to experience as much as he could here, but I wasn't sure this was something I should force him to do. Robert, as always, seemed to read my doubts, and had his usual logical and masterful answer.

"It's really nothing more than an initiation for a novice slave," he explained. "Not exactly a friendly one, but Michael went through it. Sebastian did as well, and he was only eight at the time, weren't you, little one?"

Seb looked up at his master for permission, then nodded silently.

"Tell Master Steven all about it, Seb," Doctor Collins commanded in his gentle, but unmistakably final way.

The boy sat up, but obediently kept his hands and knees flat on the floor. He gazed at me with bright, vibrant green eyes. "Well, sir," he began in the subtle remains of a British accent, "I was naked, like I am now, and I got chased all over 3; by other masters. They had whips, and a great big net, and sticks, sir, there were sticks, long ones. I never did get caught, sir. I made it back to my master." And at those words he leaned against Samuel's leg for comfort, and received it with a gentle caressing hand on his back.

"Only boy who's ever gotten back to his master, Steven," Robert said in sincere appreciation. "But then Seb is a clever little devil. So is Alex. He'll do very well. No harm will come to him. A few cuts and scrapes in the wood maybe, but he will be perfectly safe. I supervise these little escapades myself, and you have my word."

Robert's word has always been good enough, and it was this day as well.

"Where should I bring him, and when?" I asked, my decision made.

Both of my older companions and mentors smiled softly. Robert answered. "Seven o'clock this evening. Have him in the main pavilion. He should be naked."

Robert proceeded to explain everything to me, but of course Alex was to know only that he was being hunted, and that whoever caught him would get to use him for the rest of the night, any way he saw fit, without his master around to intervene. It was a complete fabrication of course, but it would give the boy incentive not to get caught, and make him somewhat more sporting prey.

"If he does make it back to me, I must assume there's some reward in store for him."

"No," Samuel answered. "Making it back to his master's loving arms is reward enough for any slave, wouldn't you agree?"

I had to admit I liked his thinking, but Robert had another more interesting thought.

"There should be a reward alright," his tone was positively wicked, "something that will test him to his absolute limits."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked.

"Ha. No, no, Steven," he waved a playful finger at me. "You are his master, you decide. I won't have that boy hating me!"

It came to me suddenly, something we'd already played around with a bit, but never done seriously. "I want to keep him awake, no sleep at all, just torture and punishment and training, and all the sex he can take."

Robert's eyes lit up. "How long were you thinking of doing it?"

"I don't know. How long is safe for a boy his age? Three days?"

"Let's try five," Samuel suggested.

I did the math in my head. Five days would take us through the rest of the week, and Alex would still have the weekend to recover for the start of school. I agreed on the spot, and then of course the complexity of the situation struck me.

"I'm going to need some help."

"You'll have it," Robert replied. "Samuel and I, and the boys here. Two of us should always be up with him, in case he gets into real trouble. I'll have Michael work out a schedule. We'll start after the hunt is over, regardless of how it turns out."

"Alex is already exhausted," I said. "The next five days are going to be interesting."

"In more ways than you know," Robert replied with a devilish wink.

Chapter 26
New Rules

Robert and Sam stayed for close to an hour, sharing insights with me on the vagaries and protocols of this tight-knit community Alex and I had joined. And it was a community, one that existed in the shadows of everyday reality. I was told it was never to be referred to as a club – 'that's for amateurs' they told me – and those who were involved in it, masters and slaves alike, were not to be referred to as members. Associates, friends, family, these were the phrases used and expected, and the implication and expectation of permanence was quite clear.

There was, of course, a natural hierarchy, with junior slaves like Alex occupying the very bottom; but everyone, from the most experienced master to the least experienced slave, was treated with respect. Slaves did suffer humiliation at times, after all it is in their nature to do so, but there were limits, and I recalled once more Robert's guiding philosophy, that a slave's basic rights as a human being never be abused or ignored. It is a way of thinking, and a way of treating and raising Alex, that appealed to me deeply. I'd seen the boy grow happier and more confident since our journey together had begun. He was stronger now, inside and out, and yet he'd lost none of his kindness, his compassion, his thoughtfulness, his gentle nature.

Alex was a slave, but his beautiful spirit was free.

And even as he slept, the three of us continued making plans for the boy's next five days. What we would do to him and make him do, ways to push his endurance to the limit and beyond, games we would play with him to keep him confused and off balance, and awake. Michael diligently sat with pad and pencil between his legs and worked out a suitable schedule for us, ensuring Alex would always have two people watching him while the rest of the household slept in shifts. In the end, I realized, we would all be working a lot harder than Alex himself in the days to come.

"Do we tell him, or just do it?" Samuel Collins asked, as he leisurely stroked his little pet boy's back.

"That is his master's decision, I believe," Robert replied. All eyes, even young Sebastian's, were on me at that moment.

I had to think about it. Knowing Alex like I do, telling him when it began would have been the more cruel and manipulative choice, giving him time to think and worry about the entire five days within the span of a few minutes. Forcing him right into it with no warning also held a certain appeal. He would have no grasp of the larger game being played until he was well and hopelessly committed to it. In the end I chose cruelty. Alex would know and already be dreading it before we even started.

"What do you think, Michael?" I asked.

The young man nearly dropped his pencil, then looked at his master first before answering me. "I agree with you, sir. I think you should tell him."

"No. I think we'll make you tell him, with your master's permission of course," I replied sharply.

Robert grinned, as a look of absolute dismay crossed Michael's handsome and still boyish features.

"Problem, Michael?" Robert asked darkly.

The eighteen-year-old sat up straight. "No, master."

"Then it's settled," I announced. "Once the evening is over, we'll bring him back here and begin. Agreed?"

Robert and Samuel indicated their approval, and there was a playful, almost wicked smirk in young Sebastian's eyes. Something told me I would need to watch that boy carefully. Not that I expected him to be capable of cruelty, but mischief yes, to a large degree. Michael, in contrast, appeared to be in some far off place, perhaps envisioning his new and unexpected role where my Alex was concerned.

With my guests departed, I returned to the bedroom and gazed at the boy beneath the blankets. Alex lay on his right side, one hand beneath the pillow, the other resting gently above it, close to his face. He was beautiful, and in that moment I needed to be with him. Still in my clothes, I pulled the covers back and crawled in beside him. He stirred and groaned at me, then shivered, struck by the panic that often hits when one is awakened suddenly from a deep sleep.

"It's just me, Alex," I said quietly, gently squeezing his shoulder.

With a soft whimper, he rolled himself over to face me. His hazel eyes were tired, and I saw them dance, just momentarily, in apprehension, wondering what wicked game his master might be up to now. I felt a curious delight that he was beginning to think that way, but also a sudden sadness, as if the closeness we'd shared had somehow slipped away, just a little. I smiled at him, and I suppose my eyes told him it really was just me, his brother, his protector, his lover. There were times when being his master was simply too much for either of us to bear.

"You don't have to get up, honey," I told him, as his hand found mine. "I thought you might like some company."

"Thanks," Alex said, as I kissed his fingers.

"How was it?" I asked. "Being whipped like that."

My boy let his head fall back onto the pillow, and he stared straight up at the ceiling, blinking his eyes slowly. "Terrible."

"Alex 3;"

"I didn't say I wouldn't do it again," he replied, his voice cracking and trembling. "The worst part was knowing you were watching. I couldn't let him beat me. I wasn't going to say my word 3; I wasn't going to let him make me do it 3; even if he killed me."

"You know it never would have gone that far 3; but I believe you. Robert says everyone's talking about you."

"Cool."

"You liked all that attention, didn't you?"

"Sometimes," he said, moving close to me so I could wrap my arms around him. "I didn't like that thing he put around my neck."

"The yoke?"

"Yeah, that."

"Humiliating?"

Alex nodded slowly.

"That was the idea. And know that I know how much you hate it, we'll definitely be getting one for you to wear around the house."

He glared at me, but I felt his cock twitch against my leg. It was slowly hardening as the thought of being yoked like an animal ran through his head.

"That excites you."

"Yes." His voice was small and guilty, and, instinctively, the boy started rubbing himself against me.

"No more of that, little man," I told him, pushing him away.

His sweet young eyes were desperate. "Please put my belt back on. Please! I can't stand it like this."

"You have to learn, Alex. I'm very disappointed in you. You made yourself ejaculate when I was fucking you. You did not have permission to do that."

"I'm sorry, Steve. It just felt so good, I couldn't stop."

"You could have. You just didn't want to. A slave has no right to pleasure himself."

"I know. I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"I won't punish you here, but you're going to be spending several hours in the stocks when we get home, maybe with four or five pounds [1¾-2¼ kg] of lead hanging from your balls."

Normally such a comment would have produced some smart remark from him. Instead there was only silence. A sudden thought must have crossed his mind, and it showed on his face. "Are you mad at me?"

"Aw, honey, no. I'm not mad." I stroked his arm and shoulder, then his cheek. "I know how hard it is for a boy your age to show restraint, but that's still no excuse. I'm not going to keep you in the belt all the time. That would be too easy for you. From now on, when you're not in your belt, I want you to tell me when you're having an erection. Even when we're out in public, I want to know about it, anytime, anywhere. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Every erection earns you punishment. It's your job to keep track and tell me how many you had at the end of the day."

"Man, my ass is gonna be red forever!"

"Probably," I laughed and kissed him on the forehead, and he melted back into my arms. "But there are some exceptions. When you're bound, or chained to your bed, or sleeping in your cage 3; anytime you can't touch yourself, it's okay for you to be hard. And when we're in the dungeon together. I expect you to have an erection then."

Alex sighed and snuggled up against me. "I like that."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. And I've got one right now."

"I know you do. But we'll start with a clean slate, alright?"

"Ok."

"Go back to sleep. I'll wake us up in a few hours."

"What'll we do then?" he asked as he rolled over onto his side once more.

"You'll see."

I got us up around five, the growling of our stomachs making further sleep impossible. I took Alex to the bathroom and cleaned him out with the enema equipment provided. The instructions told me to throw the nozzle attachment away when I was finished, and that another would be provided the next morning. How thoughtful.

It was Alex' first cleansing in several days, and it took three full bags, the second with soap, to get everything cleared. The boy whined and moaned as he stayed there on his hands and knees, the tube sticking out of his cute little ass, his ripening balls hanging low between his legs. I rubbed his thighs for him, then reached around and massaged his distended belly, working the warm water deep inside him. He was learning to hold it longer and longer, and he managed to keep the last one in for more than six minutes. The boy was pale and sweating when it was all over.

"Alright, wipe yourself."

He did, pausing to stick a finger up there and work it around, uttering a sigh from the pleasure he was giving himself. I let him have his fun for a few minutes, my own cock dripping just from watching him.

"Get your plug, Lexi," I finally said.

He trotted over to the sink and presented it to me, bending over and grabbing his ankles without being told. He'd already managed to get himself loose and moist with his finger, so the cold metal plug went in with relative ease.

"Mmm," he cooed softly, at once loving and hating the constant pressure inside him.

Back in the sitting room, Alex handed me his collar, his young eyes flashing with that wondrous mix of anxiety and excitement. He was ready to go on, I did not need to ask, or doubt. I locked his collar around his neck, running my fingers over the soft leather.

"Hug me," he demanded.

Those two words were the only orders Alex ever gave, and I always obeyed whenever I heard them.

"I love you," I told him, as he buried himself in my strong embrace. I realized I hadn't told him that in a while.

He must have read my thoughts. "You don't have to tell me. I know."

I held him that much tighter.

"Come on," I finally said, letting him go. "We're missing all the fun out there."

Alex gave me a smart little smirk.

"Go to the armoire and pick out a leash for your collar." I gave him a sharp pat on his rump to get him moving. "I saw a nice silver chain that would look good on you, but it's your choice."

He was there and back in an instant, with the exact one I would have chosen for him. Shiny, with small tight links, with a leather loop at the end for the master's use. I attached the chain to the ring in front of his collar and gave him a firm tug, nearly pulling him off his feet. It was shorter than Alex was accustomed to, just three feet [90 cm] long, meant to keep the boy close, which was my intention. I walked him around the room for several minutes so he could learn the new limits on his freedom.

"Here's the rule, just for today," I said. "I want to feel you next to me at all times. Your hand, or your shoulder, or your hip. You are never to let yourself out of my reach or out of my touch. Do you understand?"

My tone of voice told him this was very important, and I saw just a glimmer of fear in his eyes as he nodded his head. "Yes, sir."

Cuffs and harness, and his belt, remained on the floor where they'd come off. Alex gazed at them and then at me, asking his silent question.

"I'm going to keep you naked for a while. Let everyone see how adorable you are."

Alex gave me his shy trademark smile, but then his face grew thoughtful. "Is that why I need to stay close to you?"

"Brilliant deduction, Watson," I answered with a grin. "These people are strangers. I don't want you getting into trouble."

Alex knew exactly what kind of trouble I meant, and his expression became serious.

"I am going to let people touch you, and play with you," I reached down and fondled his cock, "all they want. But I promise I won't let you go." I wrapped the leather loop around my wrist and pulled him close again. I could tell by his sudden sharp breathing that he was getting nervous. Alex craves touch from those he loves, but he cringes and shrinks from it whenever it comes from other quarters.

The silver chain rattled. My poor Alex was shaking. His next words to me were a low whisper.

"I'm scared."

"I know you are. I also know you'll keep your place and do as you're told."

He nodded solemnly. "I won't let you down."

"You never have."

Pulling him gently behind me, we left our private little sanctuary and returned to the world outside.

Chapter 27
Give and Take

I hadn't told Alex about what a memorable first impression he'd made under Bartholomew's whip. My boy was surprised and delighted to hear so many masters call his name, or nod respectfully in his direction. He was somewhat less delighted to be naked and on display for them, and he did indeed attract a great deal of attention. I offered him freely, and Alex silently and obediently endured their appreciative hands as they worked over his smooth boyish chest, patted his firm little behind, and fondled his young cock. Alex often closed his eyes and looked away, unable to bear the relentless prodding and scrutiny of one stranger after another. I could tell he was starting to feel overwhelmed, and he blushed red at some of the more pointed comments made about his appearance, his posture, and of course the size of his rather generous endowment.

Still, he followed my orders precisely, never allowing himself to stray from my touch, and often pressing himself against me whenever a master was particularly rough with him.

"I'm getting hard, sir," he whispered to me on at least five occasions. The thirteen-year-old's frequent erections drew yet more attention his way, and I made him walk with it hard and throbbing and waving in front of him.

We did nothing in particular that afternoon. It was enough to mingle and begin meeting others in this hidden world of ours. Masters and slaves alike came in all ages, shapes and sizes, and some of the most experienced slaves, I noticed, were quite masterful in their own right, confident and self-assured. More than a few of them spoke openly to Alex, asking if he was enjoying himself, to which Alex invariably replied 'Yes'; asking what hobbies he had, to which Alex invariably asked 'Other than sex?' which always resulted in smiles and laughter. Never once though did another slave touch him.

I did finally pause to load up a scrumptious plate of food for myself, which Alex dutifully carried around with outstretched hands. He ate none of it, nor did he ask. When I'd finished, we went off together and I found him some fruit, and a nice piece of grilled chicken. He put his plate on the ground and gobbled everything down as if I'd not fed him in days.

"Slow down, Alex," I laughed. "People will think I'm starving you."

"I thought you were going to," he said before tearing another piece of chicken from the bone with his teeth.

Alex was just wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, when our host appeared. It was the first time I'd encountered him since our first meeting earlier in the day. He was no longer clad in his refined suit, but now in leather and black denim. Tall and slender, with a formal air about him, still a man of cultured tastes. Thomas, the handsome young door-ward who had welcomed us, was on his left. The teenager was collared, and he wore a thick leather belt and harness around his waist, chains ran from it, ending in a metal clasp that was closed tightly around his ample cock and balls, another set anchoring the butt-plug no doubt firmly seated behind. Cuffs adorned his slender ankles, and his large feet were bare. Still young enough to be naturally smooth and hairless, the boy's tanned skin seemed golden in the fading light of late summer's eve.

Beside Thomas stood a younger boy whom I judged to be close in age to Alex, fourteen at most. A little taller perhaps than my own boy, slender but not skinny, young muscles just beginning to develop in his arms and legs. He had brownish-blond hair, and his eyes, when he raised them, were an icy blue. They had a piercing quality that it made it difficult to return his gaze. He was naked, and his body quite handsome with a taut flat stomach and a narrow tapered waist. Smooth limbs lean and wiry. His cock was a pleasing sight, not overly large, not small either, but long and thick and cut, with plump balls dangling below. The boy had pubic hair, light in color and still sparse, but he was surely the only boy here allowed such an honor.

It struck me just as Wim was introducing us that this boy was not a slave, at least not like Alex, or any of the others we'd met.

"My son Joshua," our host said, gesturing to the attractive lad.

Joshua stepped forward and took my hand with a confident smile. His grip was sure and sturdy for one so very young.

"Good afternoon, sir," he said in a voice caught somewhere between boy and man. He then rested his eyes on Alex. "I've heard all about you," he said to him in a playful tone, smiling for the first time. "Wish I could've been there to see it. Nearly gave old Barto a heart attack, didn't you?"

"I guess so," Alex replied.

"I'd sure as hell like to take a crack at you sometime," the boy said with a sly grin.

The riding crop Wim carried sailed through the air and landed squarely on Joshua's ass.

"I won't tell you again about your language, boy," our host admonished his son. Joshua quickly bowed his head in submission, but I could see a defiant gleam in his blue eyes.

"I apologize for Joshua's behavior, Steven. He has the makings of a fine master, but at the moment he is quite a handful. Isn't he, Thomas dear?"

Thomas nodded without much emotion. I imagined it must have been quite difficult to take orders from a younger boy. He and Josh exchanged a barbed glare at one another, and it was clear that Wim's slave had little use for Wim's son, and that the opposite was equally true.

Wim continued, moving his eyes up and down along Joshua's lean attractive frame. There was not an ounce of fat on the boy, and his skin was perfect and unblemished. Joshua's cock was slowly hardening as he feasted his own young eyes on my Alex. "I believe," Wim said, "that we still have guests that need tending to. That is your job if I'm not mistaken."

Joshua gazed at his father with a certain sincere contrition in his eyes. "Nice meeting you, sir," he said to me, then gave Alex a little smile. With exacting, almost military posture, he turned and walked away, offering me a tantalizing view of his cute teenaged ass.

"See that he stays out of trouble, Thomas. I'll whip the hide off you if he doesn't."

The sixteen-year-old slave took the threat seriously, and ran off after his young master-in-training.

"Together they keep me quite busy," Wim said with a sigh as he watched them disappear beneath a nearby canopy filled with mingling masters and subdued slaves.

"I'll bet they fight like brothers." I winked at my own flesh and blood and my little brother risked a quiet laugh.

Wim looked at me and then at Alex, and a sardonic smile crossed his face.

"And who wins when the two of you go at it, may I ask?" came his sharp reply.

Alex chuckled again.

"You might be surprised," I said. "There are times when I wonder who's really the master, and who's really the slave."

Our host smiled at me, an expression that told me he understood and shared those feelings. "That often happens with the more 3; shall we say 3; aggressive submissives. They know their place, but they are demanding nonetheless. Thomas can still wear me out. I'm sure Alex leaves you breathless much of the time."

"For all sorts of reasons."

I held Alex close and he leaned his head against me. Brothers and lovers, just for instant, and then he was back standing in wait beside his master.

"I would very much like to introduce him to the group," Wim said. "Would you like that, young man?"

I gave the boy a silent tap on the wrist to let him know I expected him to answer. I could actually see the thrill running through him, the very idea of standing naked in front of everyone left him trembling.

"Sir, I would like that very much." And in spite of his obvious fear, I knew he was not lying.

"And will you be joining our hunt this evening?"

The thirteen-year-old's expression told me he really had no idea what to make of such a question, or which answer was expected. Out of his depths, Alex looked at me. I was not about to let the little slave off the hook. I liked him dangling there at my mercy.

"Answer the master's question, boy," I said, smacking his backside.

Alex turned his attention to Wim once more, and spoke in a soft, quiet voice, which again reminded me of just how young he was. "I don't know anything about hunting, sir. What would I have to do? I mean, I won't have to kill anything, will I?"

Wim and I both laughed at the boy's innocent questions, that is until our host's expression suddenly cooled and that wicked gleam I'd seen so often from Robert filled his eyes. "Oh, you won't be one of the hunters, dear boy," he said, moving forward and gently touching his fingers to Alex' cheek. "We have a special role for you."

Always bright and perceptive, Alex needed no further hints as to his fate. I wasn't sure what to expect of him at that moment, but he turned to me with brave determination in his hazel eyes. I put my hands on his shoulders and gazed down at him. I knew by his expression that it was now his turn not to let me off the hook. He was not going to volunteer. He was going to force me to make him do it.

Our eyes locked for what seemed the longest time. All the complexity of our relationship was laid bare for us in that moment. All the love, all the pleasure, all the compassion, all the hate, all the pain, all the indifference. And in the end, Alex was my slave. That was all that really mattered anymore.

"You will do it," I said coldly.

"I will do it," he replied the same.

"Then come with me," Wim said. "We had best get you ready. Have you eaten?" His question was directed at Alex.

"Yes, sir."

"Not much I hope."

Alex actually glared at me. It was playful, but a glare nonetheless. "No, sir. My master has not fed me much today."

"Just as it should be, little colt."

Wim lead us back to the large pavilion where we had first met his acquaintance. A quintet of naked slaves was busily erecting a low stage for the evening's festivities, and tomorrow's auction. I realized these five young men were the same ones I saw chained to the walls of the carriage house. They were collared and shackled in iron, and each wore a particularly nasty chastity belt around their waists. Our new friend Bartholomew was supervising them under his skillful whip.

Alex stared at the scene in quiet wonder, and again I could see the wheels turning in his head.

"My animals," Wim said nonchalantly.

They were impressive specimens. Two were just teenagers. Three were young men in their early twenties. All were lean and wiry and all were utterly hairless, even their heads had been clean-shaven. Iron bits were in their mouths, held in place by leather harnesses. The only sounds they made were the grunts and groans of straining muscles, and the occasional cry of protest when Bartholomew laid into them for not working up to his exacting standards.

Alex' hand found mine and he tapped gently to get my attention.

"I'm getting an erection, sir," he whispered.

Wim noticed the boy's excited state instantly. "So, you like what you're seeing do you? Perhaps next summer, once you've put on a bit more muscle, your master will let you spend a month in my stables. You'd be treated just as they are. Worked all day, tortured all night, and we'd train that cock of yours to stay soft. You'd like that wouldn't you, boy?"

Alex didn't dare to answer, but his throbbing cock made his feelings abundantly clear.

Our host eyed me with deep sincerity. "I would pay handsomely for the boy's services, Steven. For as long or as short a term as you wish."

Sell my boy to another? Even if just temporarily. The thought had never occurred to me until that moment, but the idea of my sweet young Alex toiling like an animal for another master had just planted itself irrevocably into my head. Alex and I shared a knowing glance, and we both knew it was going to be inevitable.

"He'll get a small taste of it tonight," Wim went on as he gestured me to a wooden chair. Alex remained standing.

Bartholomew left his boys to their labors and approached us with his warm and friendly smile. I noticed Alex stood up a little taller and straighter in his presence.

"Back on your feet already, Alex?" the old man asked with a wink. "I must be getting soft in my old age. You on the other hand 3;" he reached out and playfully stroked the boy's cock.

"Don't encourage him, Master Bartholomew," I said. "Alex has to learn to control himself."

Bartholomew's eyes lit up and he put a hand firmly under the boy's chin. "Are you going to be punished for being hard in front of me?"

"Yes, sir," Alex answered. "And for being hard in front of just about everyone else."

Alex said it in all seriousness, but it was of course funny and we all three shared a much-needed laugh. That's the magic of my Alex. Even in our darkest moments, when our respective roles seem like they are about to consume us, he brings light and joy, without even trying. He is special.

"Alex has agreed to be our guest of honor this evening," Wim explained, patting the kid on the shoulder.

"Has he now?" Bartholomew asked, studying the boy with his dark gentle eyes. "You're in for quite a time, young man. Ever been hunting before?"

"No, sir."

"Well, it doesn't really matter. You'll mostly be running. You are a fast runner, aren't you?"

"I think so, sir," Alex said, adding a quiet "I hope so," under his breath.

"Are you plugged?"

"Yes, sir."

"And have you ever run with a plug inside you?"

Alex nodded. "Master makes me run at home, sir. I like the feeling, sir."

Bartholomew tried his best not to smile, but the boy's charm has that inevitable effect on just about everyone. "Well then let's see how well you do."

Alex looked to me for guidance.

"Master Bartholomew's in charge of you for the rest of the day. Obey him." I turned to the seasoned master. "Do whatever you want with him."

Wim later told me he could actually see Alex stagger under that simple, calculated blow. The boy was stunned, and his mouth dropped open. I'd given him over to Robert's care once before, but only briefly. This was a man he hardly knew, and genuinely feared. It did not occur to me then, that even as I stood there, I was once again abandoning him.

Bartholomew took Alexander's leash and pulled him close, staring down into the boy's frightened eyes. "Would you like to finish what we started?"

Alex trembled. "No, sir."

A tender pat on the head. "One day you'll ask for it. Now, show me how fast you can run. Up to the stage and back."

The boy took off as fast as his strong young legs could carry him. There and back in no time.

"Did I tell you to stop?" Bartholomew asked when Alex was standing in front of him again.

"No, sir, you didn't." And he quickly starting running again.

Back and forth. Back and forth. And all the while the slaves busily erected the stage, not once pausing from their labors to watch the naked boy running to and fro. Bartholomew kept the boy occupied that way for a good twenty minutes, often leaving him to whip one of the "animals" into shape. Wim and I sat back and enjoyed a leisurely conversation.

I learned that Joshua was his adopted son, and that Robert had played some role in the affair, on which Wim would not elaborate. Nonetheless I was left with the impression that the boy had been given away by his parents, or perhaps sold. Wim was reluctant to discuss it further, but he did speak of the boy with a certain pride.

"Josh still fights me sometimes," he said, "but he's mostly a good boy. He shouldn't have spoken to Alex that way though."

"Alex seemed rather flattered."

Wim laughed. "Of course he did. Your boy is a natural flirt, Steven. Nevertheless, Joshua is too young to address another man's slave in such a crude manner. He will be severely punished, rest assured."

That of course, was something I would have dearly loved to see.

I left the pavilion for a while after Wim excused himself. Alex saw me go and almost ran after me. He stopped himself with some effort, and my last vision was of him standing before Bartholomew with his hands behind his head listening as the man firmly gave him his latest instructions. Things had grown quiet and few people were about as I walked alone amongst the gardens. It was early evening now, and most of the guests had retired to their rooms in preparation for the night's festivities. I made my way up to the main house, where Thomas and Joshua greeted me. They were both still quite naked and clearly disappointed that Alex was not in my company.

"Dr. Collins is giving a demonstration in the drawing room, sir," Joshua said with knowing eyes.

Drawing room. A word not normally found in a fourteen- year-old's vocabulary, but then I'm sure there were many words young Joshua knew that others his age had never dreamed of using. Of course I remembered Robert mentioning that the good doctor would likely demonstrate his arts today, and I quickly had Thomas show me in.

Immediately I felt as if I had entered some bizarre science fiction film. Surrounded by the dark paneling and exquisite antiques of a by-gone age, there was, in the very center of the room, a metal-framed examination chair padded in leather and lit by four harsh overhead spotlights on all sides. I recognized its diminutive occupant immediately.

Young Sebastian was strapped down tightly, his arms at his side, his legs spread wide. The boy's head was immobilized by a cruel harness, and he was gagged, muzzled to be precise. The bright light against his pale skin made him appear to be glowing. His slender young body already had a sheen of sweat from the lamps, which glistened as his master began the lecture. Samuel Collins was in his white lab coat, every bit as formidable on him as black leather would be on another.

There was not an empty seat to be had, so I accepted standing room at the rear, which still afforded me an excellent view.

"Gentlemen," Collins began, "You are all no doubt aware that the area of skin between the anus and the base of the scrotum is highly erogenous, especially in the young." He then moved his right hand between Sebastian's legs and ran a single finger gently along the area in question. Sebastian jerked helplessly in his bonds and let out a high-pitched squeal. "As you will notice as I continue, the subject is becoming aroused."

The eleven-year-old's penis was swelling in a futile attempt to erect itself, permanently held down against his balls by the chastity ring. Seb wiggled and moaned as the pleasure washed over him.

"Were it not for the ring," the doctor continued, "the subject would be fully erect at this moment."

The audience hummed and nodded their agreement.

"Today you will witness a perineal piercing." He then held up a thick stainless steel ring, nearly two inches [5 cm] in diameter. "As you can see the ring is quite large. Once in place, it will provide an excellent point for restraining the subject. Its conductive properties will also allow for 3; stimulation 3; of certain regions of the body."

Murmurs and wicked laughter filled the room.

"Further its diameter will help ensure a proper standing posture. The subject will be unable to close his legs henceforth."

Laying the ring aside, Sam rolled a tray of supplies near the chair and picked up a long and rather intimidating needle.

"As you know, the subject is normally not anesthetized for piercings, but this is an extremely delicate and painful procedure, and I do not want him moving any more than is necessary. Thus a local anesthetic will be used."

Without further explanation, the doctor inserted the needle into the boy's abdomen. Sebastian offered no reaction. I imagined he was quite accustomed to being poked and prodded after all these years. Several minutes were allowed to pass before Sam selected a small clamp and a much larger and thicker needle from his collection.

The clamp was placed, eliciting a soft cry from the young patient.

"As you can see, the subject does still have some sensation."

The piercing needle came next. Sebastian gasped sharply but made no further sounds. His master applied thick soft gauze to stem what bleeding there was. Then he carefully inserted the ring and locked the clasp. A soldering iron came next, making the boy's latest modification permanent. We were all invited to step forward and take a closer look.

Sebastian lay there motionless, wiggling just his fingers and his toes, his green eyes gazing off into an unseen distance. Samuel gently turned the new ring, and applied a disinfecting cream between the boy's legs. A question was asked about infections in such a sensitive area.

"Regular antiseptic cleanings and no restrictive clothing for two weeks until it has fully healed. Then normal hygiene will suffice."

Everyone had their turn to inspect the boy close up. I noticed no one touched his cock or his balls. Young Seb was well known here, naturally, and no hand but that of his master ever dared touch him there.

"Your thoughts, Steven?" he inquired as the others began to talk amongst themselves.

"I'm a bit speechless."

"Modification is not for everyone. I understand completely."

"Sebastian seems to be in heaven though," I observed, for it was certainly true. The look in his eyes was priceless.

"I'd been promising him something special for quite a while, something no other boy has."

"It's certainly unique."

The boy's eyes smiled at me, and he promptly fell asleep.

I returned to the pavilion to find my Alex hard at work with the other slaves putting the finishing touches on the stage. The boy was sweaty and quite dirty. He paused and looked at me expectantly when he saw me enter.

"Keep working, Lexi," I said as I walked by.

Bartholomew greeted me with a casual smile. "Alex is a good little worker," he said, holding up a riding crop. "I've only had to use this on him twice. And once I confess was just for fun."

"As long as he's been behaving himself."

"He most certainly has. And we're just about ready. Alex, over here please. Now."

Alex immediately and literally dropped what he was doing and trotted over to us, the leash dangling from his collar, his young cock flopping between his legs.

"Any erections while I was gone?" I asked him, running my hands over his stomach.

"No, sir," he said without a smile. "I was a good boy."

I kissed him on the forehead, and for just an instant he moved as if he were about to hug me, but he stopped himself and stood as straight and tall as his five-foot [1.50 m] frame would allow.

"There's really nothing more to be done for now," Bartholomew told us as the first guests began to filter in to the pavilion, filling the seats nearest the stage. "Please remove Alexander's leash."

I did as instructed, getting a good whiff of my smelly boy as I unclasped the chain from his collar. I rolled it up and put it in my pocket for later.

"A place has been reserved for you, Steven," Bartholomew said, pointing to a front row chair by the aisle. "The boy will stand."

And stand Alex did, for nearly an hour while the gathering slowly came together. I had to remind him to stay in position with an occasional slap on the behind. His head was bowed, always a sign that he was tired, or nervous, or uncomfortable, and I'm sure this time it was a combination of all three.

"Keep your eyes forward, boy," I said, slapping his ass again.

He made a half-hearted effort to comply then turned his head just a bit to look at me. It was becoming too much for him. I could see it in his eyes.

"It's alright," I whispered. "You can put your head down if you need to. I know it's hard to have everyone looking at you."

"Thanks, Steve," he whispered back and quickly focused his eyes on the ground again.

I rubbed the backs of his thighs, smooth and silken. He sighed contentedly.

"That feels nice."

"Keep your voice down, Alex."

"Sorry."

"It's ok," I said softly. "We can talk, but we shouldn't let the others hear us."

"Gotcha. What should we talk about?"

"You, silly. Are you doing ok?"

There was a pause before he answered. "I guess."

"Still scared?"

"Uh-huh. This isn't like when it's just us at home 3; or even when we're with Master Robert. There's so many people here. It's hard."

"I know. You're doing great though. Everyone loves you."

He wiggled his hips a bit to make his cock and balls flap around. Then he snickered under his breath. "Lots of me to love!"

"You little slut."

"You big pervert."

I put my arm around his waist and pulled him close for moment. He was back in position before anyone even noticed.

"It's harder than I thought," he whispered. "Being naked in front of everybody. I don't like it when they touch me."

"Your dick seems to."

Alex didn't have an answer for that and we spent the next few minutes in silence, until Wim took the stage to kick off the night's festivities. As he welcomed us, I saw Samuel and Robert come in, with Sebastian and Michael trailing close behind. Mike looked very tired and rather worse for wear. It seemed as if Robert had been going rather rough with him these last few hours. Sebastian, wearing just a long black T-shirt, walked awkwardly behind his master. He was grimacing with each step, still growing accustomed to the new jewelry between his legs.

After a few brief words, Wim turned his attention to me. "We do have some newcomers with us this evening, friends of Master Robert's. I'm sure most of you have already met them, but it is only appropriate they be formally introduced. Master Steven, would you and Alex join me please."

I got up and patted Alex on the butt. He fell in step behind me. I could hear the light padding of his bare feet as we made our way to the stage. Once there I grasped his wrist and pulled him in front of me. The slender thirteen- year-old shuffled nervously toward our host.

"Turn and face everyone, boy," Wim said in a low voice.

Without hesitation, Alex obeyed.

"Alex, stand," I ordered.

He spread his trembling legs and clasped his hands behind his head. I could see his chest rising and falling in quick breaths.

"A fine young slave, wouldn't you all agree?" Wim asked, stirring murmurs of approval from the others. "Turn round, boy, let them see all of you."

Alex turned to the left in a slow circle, and gentle tap on the thigh from Wim's crop was his command to stop.

"May I ask your boy some questions, master?" Wim inquired of me.

"Certainly."

"How old are you, Alex?"

"I'm thirteen, sir," my sweet boy said in a small, private voice.

This time it was my hand on his thigh, hard and swift. "Speak up, Alex. No one can hear you."

"I'm thirteen, sir," he said over the crowd, his voice breaking just slightly.

"And how long have you been a slave?"

"Two months, sir," the boy replied sharply.

"Are you a good boy?"

"Most of the time, sir."

Wim and I shared a smile.

"Do you ejaculate?"

"Only if I have my master's permission, sir."

Wim moved close to the boy's ear and ran his hand down Alex' back. "Only then?" he asked with ice in his voice.

Alex shivered. "Well 3; I mean 3; no, sir. Sometimes I'm bad."

"And you make yourself cum?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're getting hard, boy."

He was.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

"And are you allowed to have erections like that?"

"No, sir."

"What happens to you when you do?"

"I get punished, sir."

Alex was shaking like a leaf, but his raging hard-on was already leaking.

"And who punishes you?"

"My master, sir."

"How?" Wim continued the inquisition.

"He spanks me, sir."

"I see," was Wim's cold reply.

A chair was then brought onto the stage by young Joshua. The boy wore a tight latex jock, which did nothing to hide his own erection. That and his studded collar were the only items upon his lean and hairless body. Wim gave his son a gentle kiss on the lips before ushering the boy away. He then bore his eyes into Alexander.

"Do you deserve a spanking right now?"

Alex was savvy enough to know the answer to that one. "Yes, sir."

I sat down and called him over to me. A public spanking. Alex' face was already red, his eyes already moist when I put him over my knees.

"Count out loud, Lexi, so everyone hears you."

"Yes, master."

My hand sufficed for the first fifty. Then Joshua returned with a paddle in his hands and a wicked grin on his face. I picked up the wooden enforcer, noticing the holes drilled in its surface and the name "Joshie" burned onto the handle. By its well-worn appearance, I could tell it was quite well acquainted with the fourteen-year-old's cute bottom.

Alex stopped counting and started screaming after twenty or so blows. I continued until his rear end was a nice shade of purple and the first dark bruises began to appear.

"Stand up."

With some effort he did so. Worse for him, he would later tell me, was having to turn and face everyone with tears running down his cheeks. His erection was gone.

"Thank you, master, for spanking me," he said quietly.

"Anytime, Lexi."

Bartholomew joined us on stage, and I knew the time had come. There was a certain electricity in the air. Everyone could feel it, especially Alex, who still did not know exactly what was in store for him. Come to think of it, neither did I. Wim raised his hands for silence.

"Alex here has graciously 3; volunteered 3; to be our most special guest this evening. Would those of you who drew the winning numbers please come forward."

Ten masters left their seats and their slaves and took the stage. Alex and I had met a few of them during the day, but they were all still mostly unfamiliar. I felt Alex shrink and saw him shudder, and he suddenly seemed like a little boy again, standing there naked surrounded by grown men, masters all.

"If you would be so kind as to remove the boy's plug, master," Bartholomew said to me.

I bent Alex over, holding him down with a hand upon his back, and pulled the metal plug out of him without ceremony. They boy shrieked and danced on his bare feet. Bartholomew then presented me with another plug, quite large to ensure that it would not fall out when the boy was running. It ended with a long tail of red fur. Fox. How fitting.

"This is going to hurt going in, honey," I told him. "And even more coming out."

"I'm ready, master." And he relaxed and opened himself for me as best he could.

With some effort and more than a few tears on the boy's part, I managed to get it seated inside him. The fox tail hung between his smooth hairless legs. Alex looked positively adorable with it sticking out of his ass.

Wim gestured to me silently and I took his meaning clearly.

"On your knees, Alex," I said.

The boy knelt before us all, his head bowed. Was it out of fear? Out of shame? Was he simply into his role as was so often the case? There was no time to consider his thoughts. Joshua appeared again, with Thomas beside him, and four large black hounds on chain leashes.

I suppose I never mentioned that Alex is terrified of dogs. But he is. Always has been. Had I known they were a part of the plan, I honestly never would have agreed to let them do this to him.

"Listen carefully, Alex," the voice of Bartholomew was soft and friendly, as it always seemed to be just before he engaged in unspeakable cruelty. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy."

Alex raised his head. It was the first time Bartholomew had called him by anything other than his name. "You are going to be hunted, just like a dirty little animal. You will not be bound. You will have your arms and legs, your hands and feet. And of course your head. Use it. Your only job is to find your way back here, to your master."

My boy's eyes widened in panic.

"If you get to him, before one of us gets to you, you win. If one of us catches you first, you lose. Those are the only two things that will end the hunt. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Large nets were brought out, and thick ropes, and each master was also given an electric prod.

"If another master catches you, you become his property for the rest of the evening. Of course he will not be permitted to inflict any permanent damage, but he may do as he pleases with you, and you will obey and serve him."

Alex nodded that he understood.

"Bring the dogs."

Joshua and Thomas led the dogs forward, and brought them to a stop growling in front of Alex. The canines moved in close and sniffed the boy, nearly knocking him over. They were huge, fully-grown animals, and just one of them alone would be enough to overpower a thirteen-year-old boy.

Everyone did take momentary pause at the genuine terror in the boy's eyes. Bartholomew knelt down and ran his fingers through Alex' hair.

"Afraid of dogs?"

Alex nodded, unable to stop shaking.

"All the more reason to run fast. They are trained not to bite. But they are trained to chase, and they will get their paws into you if they catch you. There are woods behind the pavilion. You might be able to hide from us there, for a while. Thomas and Joshua will hold their leashes for sixty seconds. Once they're unleashed, we all follow. They've got your scent now. I'd start running if I were you."

Bartholomew handed me his prod. I knew what was expected. The look Alex gave me chilled my heart. I pressed the prod into his thigh and heard the crackle of electricity. The boy yelped.

"Run, Alex."

He scrambled to his feet, jumped off the stage and ran out of the pavilion, turning right and then making a sharp left, redirecting himself toward the woods. And like that he was gone. Sixty seconds later, so were the hounds.

To this day Alex never talks about the hunt.

I stood outside the pavilion waiting for him, part of me hoping he would return safely to my arms, another part highly aroused at the prospects of what would happen if he didn't. I could see them in the woods, see the lights from their flashlights, and hear their taunting calls. Once or twice I heard one of the hounds growl or bark. And I did catch a glimpse of Alex once, right at the edge of the tree- line where the floodlights from the gardens washed the woods in a soft artificial daylight. He was crouching there against a tree, shaking and exhausted and less than twenty- five yards away. Our eyes met for just an instant, and I called to him. I couldn't help myself.

Alex drew himself awkwardly to his feet. I smiled at him. He'd made it. Just one more short sprint across the grass and it would be over. The boy stared at me in silence for what seemed an eternity. And then he did something I never could have imagined he'd do. Something he has never explained to me, ever. He turned his back on me, and ran back into the woods.

Forty-five minutes later, it was indeed over. A master I had not yet met returned, dragging Alex roughly behind him. My boy's hands were tied tightly and painfully behind his back, and a long rope had been looped around his neck to serve as a leash. The boy's body was covered in cuts and scratches from his time spent naked in the woods, and he walked gingerly on bare feet that were sore and bruised from tripping over rocks and roots in the dark. He stared at me for a moment, then just as quickly turned his hazel eyes away.

"Congratulations, Master Vincent," Wim said as the man came to stop before us, pulling Alex close to him. Joshua and Thomas we sent running to retrieve the dogs and let the other master's know the hunt was over. Alex had lost. And some small part of me, one I did not want to acknowledge, knew he'd done it on purpose.

Chapter 28
Magic and Loss

I've said before that Alex has a certain magic about him, a way of turning people's emotions inside out. He can bring joy with the merest flash of his beautiful eyes, or the gentle touch of his hand. He can also take it away when it suits him, or bring other less welcome feelings into the light. He'd be a mystic, if fantasy and magic were things I believed in. But I don't. What he is instead is a skilled manipulator. Most times I know he's not even aware of the effect he has on those around him, me especially, and he does it without meaning to.

But just as I have learned that I have a certain power to hurt him, Alex knows he has the power to hurt me in return.

He would not look at me as he stood there, battered and exhausted from the nightmarish chase that had lasted nearly two hours. A chase he could have ended, and didn't. And now we would both pay a price for it at the hands of a man neither of us even knew.

Had it been Robert, or Samuel, or even Bartholomew, perhaps it would not have seemed so awful. Not that there was anything overtly sinister about this Vincent. I'd noticed him earlier. Younger like myself, with a handsome slave just out of his teens. He'd done nothing to indicate that he might not be trustworthy, but I could tell by his posture, and the way he had my boy tied, that he was likely a rough and stern master. And of course there was the simple fact that he did not love Alex. He did not know what makes my boy happy, what makes him sad, what makes him smile, and what really and truly hurts him. How could I just let this man take him for the night?

Vincent extended his hand to me as the other masters gathered round, all quite disappointed in the outcome and quite jealous of the winner's luck, or skill. His grip was strong and sure.

"Quite a boy you have here, Master Steven," he said in a soft voice.

I had no argument there. Alex still would not raise his head.

Vincent turned the boy round so I could see his backside. There between his shoulders was a livid scratch, bruised around the edges. The mark was unmistakable. "Mayday had his paws into him when I found them. It's a good thing the boy was plugged or we'd still be trying to get them apart."

That was a vision I quickly ushered from my mind, but of course, it kept coming back in spite of my best efforts, as all my visions of Alex in unspeakable torment often did.

I had to force myself to focus on Wim as he quietly explained the rules. "Vincent, the boy is yours until midnight. You may do as you wish with him. Steven, you cannot interfere."

I nodded that I understood.

Wim continued addressing the victor, as Alex stood straight and still and quiet beside him, the wiggling of his toes the only movement he made. "You are strictly forbidden to do anything that might cause lasting injury. Alex has a safeword. You will respect it."

"Of course," the young master said, looking at me with surprisingly gentle eyes. "Still, I would very much like to hear him scream."

I couldn't help but smile, even as my heart raced in my chest. "He'll scream beautifully for you." Alex raised his head for just a second and gave me a vacant stare. Then he lowered his chin to his chest once more.

"I'm sure he will."

"At midnight," Wim continued, "you will return the boy to his master," and he handed Vincent a card that certainly had my room on it.

Vincent then turned his eyes to me. "Master, I will release my claim on him if you wish."

It was the gesture I'd been told to expect should Alex get himself caught, and it was given with all sincerity. I almost took it without a second thought. But I didn't. Instead I stood in front of Alex and studied this boy I'd always thought I knew so well. He was filthy and utterly spent, his rapid breathing the only visible sign that he was currently terrified. With a hand under his chin I forced him to look at me.

He was angry. Angry at me for leaving him alone most of the afternoon, for putting him on display when I knew he hated it, most of all for making him do this, for the dogs, for the chase, for just about everything else he could think of in that moment.

In the lowest, softest voice I'd ever heard him use, Alex spoke just two words to me.

"Fuck you."

If it was his intention to make me angry in return, it worked. I took his leash from my pocket and handed it to Vincent. "Take him."

And he did. Roughly. Alex stumbled along behind, and I watched until they disappeared into the house. Wim's hand found my shoulder.

"I've known Vince since he was Joshua's age. Perfectly safe. Make no mistake, he will be very hard on Alex. Expect quite a few bruises when you get him back, but your boy likes being knocked around doesn't he?"

"Yes, he does. And sometimes he hits back."

Wim looked at me with warm and perceptive eyes. "Are you two fighting?"

"No. He's just sending me a message. If you don't mind, I need some time to myself."

"Certainly." Our host excused himself with his usual formal style.

Alone, I returned to our empty room in the carriage house, nothing left to do but watch the clock and wonder what was going on in the main house, as the lights from its many windows shone toward me across the manicured lawn.

I'd stretched out on the sofa and was already half- asleep when Robert and Samuel let themselves in. They were both dressed in worn comfortable jeans and denim shirts. Michael was as well, looking quite handsome with his blond hair swept back. Young Sebastian was still in his black T- shirt, and now he also had a silken pair of black soccer shorts around his waist, loose-fitting so as not to irritate the freshly pierced flesh between his legs.

"I believe there is the little matter of our wager, Sam," Robert said, clearly concluding a conversation from outside.

With a frown and a sigh, the doctor reached into his back pocket and pulled out a substantial roll of bills which quickly found its way into Robert's hands.

"I'd have bet a hundred times he was a winner," Collins said with certain disappointment in his voice. Robert only laughed.

"You bet against Alex?" I asked in mock disdain.

"Turned out to be the smart one, didn't I?" Robert

replied with his typical biting sarcasm.

My friends made themselves comfortable while young Sebastian was sent to the bar to make drinks for everyone.

"Kid makes a mean martini," Samuel said to me as I watched the redheaded eleven-year-old pouring and shaking and plopping olives into the glasses. "Sure you won't have one?"

I certainly could have used one at that moment, but that kind of stuff was off limits, for my own sake, and for Alex. "Iced tea will be fine," I replied.

Sam nodded, and his eyes told me he understood. I know Robert hadn't said anything about the problems of my youth, it is not his way to share secrets, but Samuel Collins is a rather perceptive character.

"It doesn't mean I can't enjoy watching our little bartender though," I offered with a laugh. It was after all an incredibly adorable scene. The little guy was too short and had to kneel on one of the stools in order to reach the counter. He wiggled his bare toes and hummed a little song to himself while he worked. It sounded classical.

"Brahms," Sam proclaimed in answer to my unvoiced question. "I think. He knows them better than I do. Brahms?" he called out.

"Yes, master," Sebastian replied without turning from his duties. He resumed his little one boy symphony without missing a note.

"Is that all he's listening to these days?" Robert asked with a chuckle as he sat down beside me, pulling Michael onto the cushion next to him.

"No. I'm sorry to say he's discovered rock. Or what passes for it these days. I had to wash his mouth out last week for singing some lyrics I did not approve of."

Somehow I imagined that the classic boyhood punishment took on some wicked twists under Samuel Collins' direction. He smiled at me.

"It was just a bar of Ivory, Steven. Honestly, you must think I'm some sort of monster. Of course he was strapped down at the time, and it was in his mouth for about three hours. You won't be singing that song again, will you, boy?"

"No, sir," the redhead called back, just now placing the glasses on a silver tray. Sebastian then walked toward us, expertly balancing it with one hand. He held the tray down to me with a bright smile and I took my tea.

"Thank you, Sebastian."

"My pleasure, sir."

He served everyone, then stood in front of Samuel with the tray tucked neatly under his arm.

"May I have a Pepsi, master?" he asked.

"Do you think you've been good today?" came the playful reply.

Little four-foot [1.20 m] Seb stood tall. "Very good, sir."

"Alright. Just one. No refills."

"Yes, sir!" And the boy scurried off to the bar once more.

"Too much sugar makes him jumpy," Sam explained. "But he's earned a special treat today."

"How's his 3; "

"Healing nicely already."

Robert laid a hand on my knee as Sebastian toddled back and sat down gingerly at his master's feet, being sure to place his aluminum can on a coaster. That boy is almost too mannerly. It is rather disconcerting at times.

"Wim told us you had come back here," Robert said. "Are you having a hard time with this?"

I nodded, but of course Robert as yet had no clue as to the real reason.

"I'm surprised Alex was caught," Sam offered, almost consoling me it seemed. "Perhaps Bartholomew wore him out a bit more than he was letting on."

"No," I said, sipping my tea. "He let himself get caught. He's trying to teach me a lesson."

Robert shook his head and grinned. "I was sure he'd do something like this sooner or later. He likes to push people's buttons, yours especially."

"He's very good at it."

"Masterful, I would say. But I'm afraid he has bitten off a bit more than he bargained for with Vincent."

I was about to get to my feet and run off to find him, such was Robert's tone, but my friend and mentor held me back. "Don't misread me, Steven. Vincent is trustworthy. He would never truly harm anyone. But he is also very cruel and very harsh, and not nearly so patient and tolerant as I am."

Michael laughed in spite of himself.

"You will pay for that, dear boy," Robert said, smacking the eighteen-year-old on the thigh.

"Vincent plays rather rough. Alex is not used to that. The boy is having a difficult time right now, rest assured, and no doubt regretting his decision."

"Do we go forward with our plans?" Samuel asked, "when the boy returns."

I had to think about it, but not for long. "We do."

At exactly midnight, there was a knock at the door. I was the only one wide-awake. Sebastian lay curled up in Samuel's arms as they both lay snoring across the sofa. Robert had taken Michael into the bedroom hours ago for a good hard fuck and neither of them had come back out. Seb cracked his eyes open as I walked by. The knock came again.

"Why don't you get everyone up, sweetheart?" I said to him softly. He yawned and stretched and nodded his cute little red head.

I opened the door, and there was Vincent with a rather satisfied look on his face. Alex lay at his feet, tightly and rather brutally hog-tied, a cum-soaked cloth rag in his mouth to gag him. I noticed fresh welts and bruises on his back and thighs. Lots of them. And there was a single red rose sticking out of his butt.

Vincent smiled at me. "Alex has a great little ass, master. And he does scream beautifully."

"Did he behave himself?"

"Not at first, but we came to an understanding, didn't we, boy?"

He kicked Alex in the ribs. Not a real kick. Just a soft little touch of his booted foot. Alex moaned softly and nodded his head.

"Don't suppose he's for sale?" I saw the wink in Vincent's eyes. Alex of course did not. He moaned again and bucked in his tight and merciless bonds.

"Afraid not," I said, after allowing a bit of silence to make the boy worry.

"Well, I had to ask. See you around kid."

And with that he turned and walked away.

By now Robert and Sam had made their way toward the door. Together we lifted Alex off the floor and deposited the naked boy in the center of the room. He struggled for a moment, his calculated show of distress. Then he lifted his head, with some real difficulty, and gave me that look I'd come to know so well. The one that said, 'I'm done. You can untie me now.'

I knelt down and pressed my fingers into the sticky rag that filled his mouth. It was tied tightly behind his head.

"Yours or his?" I asked as I wiped the spent cum on his forehead.

He jerked sharply and glared at me. "mmmph."

Reading my thoughts I heard Robert whisper to Michael. "Bring Master Steven a cane. If you choose one not to my liking, I will thrash you to a bloody pulp."

The young man's face paled, and he gazed down at Alex, lying there bound and momentarily motionless. It was not difficult to tell what was in his heart, but, as always, he did as ordered. And as always, I noticed his selection was rather harsh. A long thick cane with a steel tip. I wondered. Was it his fear of Robert's threats, or something else that led him to show those flashes of cruelty whenever Alex was concerned?

"Perhaps that one would be a little too effective, Michael," his master whispered softly.

Standing as they were behind him, Alex could not see the evil implement of torture in his dear sweet Michael's hands.

"I 3; I'd like to see what it does to him, sir." It was the first time Mike had ever professed a desire to cause Alex pain. Alex heard those cold words, uttered by a young man he deeply loved and admired, and pressed his head into the antique Persian rug on which he lay.

Robert looked at me. I nodded. "But Michael must do it himself."

"I think that was the idea, Steven."

Michael stood over the boy and swung the cane a few times to get the proper mechanics. "Where, sir?" he asked me.

Tied as he was, the soles of Alex' feet were vulnerable and defenseless. Pale and soft. "His feet," I said.

"Mmmph! Mmmph!" Alex fought desperately to free himself, only straining his stretched and aching muscles that much more.

"Alex."

He was rubbing his wrists raw.

"Alex!" I shouted at him, which I rarely ever do. "Be still!"

Finally I had to kneel in front of him again, and take his head between my hands.

"Look at me."

He did, with venom in his eyes.

"You're being punished. I think you know why."

He closed his eyes in that smug manner thirteen-year- olds master so well.

"Look at me."

He did. Tears were coming now. I reached behind his head and untied the cloth.

"Who's sperm is this?" I asked him gently.

His face flushed with guilt. "It's mine, sir."

"So you enjoyed yourself then."

"No, sir." There was no doubting the sincerity of his denial. "He made me cum, sir."

"How many times?"

"Until it started to hurt, sir."

I stuffed the rag back into the boy's mouth. "Can you snap your fingers."

With a frightened whimper he nodded and demonstrated that he could.

"Snap them twice if you need to take a break," I told him. "But we decide when you're finished. This is punishment, Alex, not play. It's time you learned the difference."

He closed his eyes and turned his head away from me.

"Ten strokes, please," I ordered.

Michael drew the heavy cane back and brought it down sharply. It made a low whistle as it cut through the air. The sound that came when it hit the boy's feet was hard to describe. Somewhere between a crack and a thud.

Alex shrieked into his gag and balled his hands into fists. Already a livid red welt crossed his right foot where the cane had struck. Michael did it again. Alex howled and choked back a sob. Then another blow, this one landing on both feet at once.

Alex snapped his fingers.

Michael stopped, but did not put the cane down. We gave the boy several minutes to recover as we all stood over him. Sebastian was utterly fascinated and reached his hand out to touch Alexander's feet. Dr. Collins took his wrist and gently pulled him away.

I nodded to Michael and he began again. He was crying, but he delivered three more strokes with expert precision. Alex was beside himself. Mike raised the cane again, determined to carry out the boy's sentence. Samuel's hand stopped him.

"I think he's had enough," he said softly. "Any more, and nerve damage becomes a possibility. Besides, I have a better idea." He whispered something to Sebastian and the redheaded boy quickly scurried off toward the armoire, returning with five long black feathers, handing one to each of us with a deliciously evil smile on his face.

With the gentlest touch, I ran the feather across my boy's right foot. Alex jerked wildly.

Receiving encouragement from his master, Sebastian did the same with the helpless left foot in front of him. Alex took in a sharp breath and tried to roll onto his side. Robert's boot between his shoulder blades pinned him down quickly.

"Don't move, slave," Robert hissed sharply.

Sebastian and I continued with the boy's feet. Samuel and Michael knelt down and worked their feathers up and down the boy's sides, concentrating on his ribs where he was most ticklish. Hog-tied and gagged, and pinned by Robert's pressing weight, Alex had no hope of defending himself against this assault. He howled and cried and struggled like a little madman, only to receive further torment for his efforts.

We tortured him with the feathers for thirty minutes. Alex was breathless and in hysterics when we finally stopped. He whined plaintively when he discovered he was not about to be untied. We busied ourselves in the little kitchenette, preparing a late snack. Young Sebastian yawned, causing us all to do so, but a bit of food and drink would help restore our energy. I walked over to where Alex lay moaning quietly to himself. I forced open the boy's clenched fists and placed a large bowl of popcorn in his bound hands.

"If you move, or let any spill, we'll tickle you again."

Surrounding our living table, we ate and talked, and Seb even proudly showed us his newest ring. I would learn it never took much encouragement for that boy to take his pants off, and they did not go back on. He was adorable in just his long black T-shirt, sitting beside Alex with his slender legs folded beneath him, cruelly resting his cold can of soda between Alex' shoulders.

Alex jumped when Seb did that, and several pieces of popcorn left the shaking bowl.

"He spilled some, sir!" the eleven-year-old was quick to point out.

Youthful Michael, not so effected by the late hour, took the bowl away, grabbed his feather and tormented Alex with it for another half-hour, even rolling the boy onto his side and tickling his belly button. Alex had reached the point where he could almost sense an impending tickle. He flinched each time, before the feather even touched him, and sobbed miserably whenever he was given a brief moment to catch his breath.

Seb soon joined in, laughing joyously. A little boy's laugh. It was endearing to hear, and interesting to know it came at the anguish and misery of another boy not much older than he was.

Robert, Sam, and I simply sat back and watched, rather amazed at how quickly the two young slaves had formed a team and the sheer delight they both seemed to be taking in the torture of my Alex.

Finally, when Alex was showing the first signs of real distress, they both stopped. They gently rubbed the boy's aching shoulders. It was a touching scene, and I let it go for a few minutes.

"Leave him be," I finally told them.

Immediately they stood up. The bulge in Michael's jeans was obvious, and by the uncomfortable way Seb was prancing around, it was clear his little cock was trying its best to get hard.

"Show me, Seb," Sam Collins ordered.

The eleven-year-old lifted his shirt. Sure enough his little organ was swollen and straining against the ring that kept it down between his legs. With a warm smile, the doctor gestured the boy close.

"Hold still." And with great care he worked the ring free of the boy's scrotum. Seb sighed and moaned in delight as his penis instantly stood straight up, four cute little inches [10 cm] of boyflesh. Rare was the time, over the next several days, when Sebastian wasn't walking around proudly sporting an erection.

"No touching," Sam warned.

Sebastian nodded and threw his slender arms around his master's waist.

"I remember when you used to get hard like that, Michael," Robert said with a warm smile.

"I was never that young, sir," Mike replied, adjusting the hard cock in his pants.

"No, I suppose you weren't."

Over the years I've learned more and more about Michael, and how horrible his life had been before Robert took him in at age fifteen. He was not joking about never being as young as Sebastian, for his childhood had been filled with nothing but pain and abuse and hardship. 'This is the childhood I missed out on, right now,' he told me once during a private moment as he gazed at his master with loving eyes.

The two of them embraced, and Robert worked his hands inside Michael's jeans. "I haven't been taking enough care of this lately, Mike," he said softly. "I am sorry."

Care of course likely meant having it whipped or cruelly milked, anything but what most would call pleasure. Nevertheless Michael smiled and rested his head on Robert's shoulder.

I gazed down at Alex. He was lying still and quiet again, wiggling his fingers, which were beginning to take on a rather unhealthy shade. Kneeling down beside him, I kissed him on the head and finally removed Vincent's rose from his ass. I slowly untied his bonds.

"Take it slow, Alex," I told him once I had him freed.

He straightened his slender limbs carefully, and I rubbed his hands to get them warmed up again.

"Stand up."

Slowly he got to his feet, quickly to discover that having your soles beaten has certain long-term effects that are not entirely pleasant. He danced from foot to foot and his eyes watered. His front was bruised almost as terribly as his back. A full day of beatings and discipline had taken a certain toll to be sure. I untied the gag and tossed the wet cloth aside, drawing him forcefully into a close embrace. My boy winced and trembled and tried to pull himself away.

"He whipped you."

Alex hissed as I ran my hands over his shoulders and pressed them firmly into his latest bruises. "Yes, sir."

"Did you deserve it?"

"Yes, sir."

"You misbehaved?"

He nodded slowly, still shifting his weight from one foot to another.

"Tell me."

He looked me in the eyes for the first time. "I wouldn't suck his dick, sir."

"Why not?"

"I don't love him, sir."

That was a dagger meant for my heart, a sign I should have noticed, but it somehow missed, or, more truthfully, I simply allowed it to.

"And so he whipped you."

Again he nodded.

"And did you suck him then?"

Choking back a sob he nodded miserably that he had. Whipped into submission. Something he'd never endured before.

Kissing his neck I whispered in his ear. "Did he fuck you?"

Silence.

"I asked you a question, Alex. Did he fuck you?"

"Yes," he answered, quiet and ashamed.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"No."

I kissed him on the lips, forcing my tongue into his mouth. He pulled against me for a moment, then relaxed, and I felt the familiar light and playful touch of his own tongue dancing with mine. I pushed him away when I felt his cock hardening against my leg.

"Bring me your cuffs and harness. And your belt."

"Yes, sir."

Alex walked off with an uneven gait, favoring his left foot, which seemed to have gotten the worst of the cane. He would not even look at Michael. Cradling everything in his arms, he returned and lay his gear on the floor in front of him. I gestured to my companions. All four of us adults roughly took a slender limb and locked a cuff in place, clicking the padlocks simultaneously. As a further humiliation, we made Alex kneel in front of Sebastian, and we all watched as the younger boy put Alex back into his harness.

I put the belt on him myself. "You won't be needing these for a while," I said, giving his cock and balls a gentle squeeze before locking them in the metal pod once more.

"On your knees, Alex."

He obeyed, and the five of us quickly surrounded him. The realization that he was the only one who was naked struck him instantly. Even Sebastian was as fully dressed as he ever gets.

I gazed over at Michael. We had planned all along for him to start things off and give Alex a glimpse of what the next five days would hold for him. It was a big step for the young man, who had once been Alex himself. He was silent for a moment, staring down at this gentle clever boy he'd somehow managed to fall in love with. We waited, and finally Michael broke the silence. Alex would tell me years later, 'Mike became my master that day.' And it was true. None of us yet saw it, least of all Michael himself, but it was true.

"You are our slave for the next five days, Alex. You will obey any order any of us give you without question. You will be naked. You will be silent. You will be bound. You will be tortured. You will crawl everywhere you are told to go. There will be pain. There will be punishment. You will not sleep. Now, suck my cock."

Alex just stared in horrified shock at Michael whom he so dearly loved. For a moment he looked as if he were about to cry, but then he crawled forward on his hands and knees, opened the young man's jeans with shaking fingers, and took Michael into his mouth.

Comments are welcome and can be directed to Istari_olias(at)yahoo.com
NEXT CLICK FOR THE NEXT PART PART