Mister Red

Scotty's Graduation Present

It's not like I hated Scotty Fife. I just couldn't stand him and wanted him to stay away from me. I mean it's not like I went around bashing homos or anything like that. But when you're the most popular kid in school and the all-around best athlete and there's this really annoying fairy who wants to be around you all the time – well, of course you're not gonna like having the creepy kid hanging around.

Simple, you say, just keep your distance from the annoying little fairy. But of course there's a complication. My father works for Fife Industries. His boss, Mr. Fife, is the richest man in five counties. And Scotty the fairy is Mr. Fife's only child.

So my dad would come home all smiles and say, "Mr. Fife has invited you over for a playdate with Scotty." And I'd be all, "Daaaaaad, a playdate is something you have when you're still in a playpen. I'm a big boy I'm in middle school now." Then dad would lecture about why can't I be nicer to Scotty and don't I realize how offending the Fife family can never be good in our part of the country. "Besides," he would say, "if you're really so popular, why don't you use some of that popularity to get the other kids to be friendlier to Scotty."

Parents say the lamest things.

But I'm not totally complaining. After all the Fife estate was the nicest place in our part of the state – and I'm including all the amusement parks and water parks. The Fife's had miles of beautiful land with lawns and wooded areas. And they had wonderful pools with waterfalls and slides and every sort of fun thing you can think of. Unfortunately Scotty was a real stick-in-the-mud. He was allergic and he didn't like to run fast and he couldn't take fast turns on any of his expensive tricked-out bikes.

Of course all the Fife land was cared for by slaves, and apparently the Fifes believed in keeping their groundskeeper slaves naked. I wasn't used to this. My family only had one slave, Nippy, who had been with us since I was real little. Nippy always wore slave shorts and a tunic. Besides, Nippy was probably close to my dad's age and not the kind of body anybody would wanna see naked.

The Fife's slaves were all goodlooking guys – a lot of them looked like college athletes and some of them looked like they could be in my middle school class. Mr. Fife had been one of the biggest supporters of the campaign to lower the age of use for slaveboys in our state. All I know is that I was way embarrassed seeing boys close to my own age bare naked with slave collars. I was maybe more embarrassed to see the older slaves naked and shaved bare. Scotty would always kid me and say it was OK to look at naked slaveboys, it wasn't like looking at naked people.

But I had already figured out the truth – that Scotty Fife just liked looking at any boy naked. Well, he liked looking at me. For a long time I didn't think anything of changing out of my swimsuit in the Fife poolhouse with Scotty right there. But then one day as I turned on the shower to rinse off the pool chemicals, I realized Scotty was rubbing his little boner as he glared right at me. I turned my back to hide my dick. He told me I was being silly and that he always felt like 'stretching his tool' after he released it from his swimsuit. He kept insisting that I must want to 'stretch my tool' also. I tried to be polite, wrapped a towel round myself and pulled up my briefs under the towel.

The next time I went to Scotty's house to swim I wore my swimsuit under my jeans. I left in the late afternoon without ever exposing my junk. But the time after that, as Scotty and I were horsing around in the pool, Mr. Fife himself came to watch us. He spoke to me in a very serious tone and told me how important it was for me to take off my swimsuit and shower thoroughly before dressing. He told me I could get a skin infection from the pool chemicals and then sue him for a lot of money.

"Is that why you come here, Wally? So you can sue the Fife family?" Of course I insisted that wasn't the case and made a promise to Mr. Fife that I'd shower naked after using his swimming pool. Scotty openly jerked off while watching me take down my trunks and shower. He loaned me a pair of underpants to put on under my jeans, but they turned out to be very small, made of mesh, with just a little strip in the back that stuck in my crack. Scotty said I looked good enough to eat.

So you can imagine I didn't react well when my dad told me that I was invited for a sleepover with Scotty. I whined and I pleaded. Finally I blurted out, "Look, dad, Scotty is a fairy. He's a homo, a queerboy."

My father suddenly yelled at me. "Don't say things like that!" But it was almost like there was fear mixed into his anger. He spoke quietly to me and explained how important being nice to the Fife family was. He seemed even more emphatic now.

I was gritting my teeth. I blurted out how Scotty wanted to see me naked and had jerked off looking at me naked. I expected my dad to take my side then, to be outraged at Scotty and his father. But dad got very quiet and stammered as he explained, "It's n-natural, son. Boys go through a stage where they're c-c-curious. Every book says that almost all boys your age mess around with each other." He didn't look at me the whole time he said that. Then he left before I could even reply.

That first weekend at Scotty's I had three layers covering my dick: briefs, pajama bottoms, and sweatpants. I told Scotty I didn't want to play strip poker and didn't want to play truth or dare. I didn't want to have a contest with measuring or seeing who could shoot furthest. I slept in the same bed with Scotty and I could feel him jerking off right next to me, but I just turned my back and tried to sleep.

I never told any of the kids at school that I had slept over with Scotty. But apparently Scotty had boasted about it. (Although he was the richest boy, I was the most popular.) That set off this boy Riley yelling at me across the locker room asking, "How was Scotty at giving you a blowjob!" Everybody laughed and then the remarks just grew from there. Scotty blamed me for telling people he had blown me (when it was his fault because he boasted about me sleeping over). From that point on, Scotty avoided me.

While Scotty had to endure going to school with us 'common boys' it was assumed that after 8th grade he would go on to Bush Prep School. Bush was very expensive unless you were lucky enough to get a scholarship. Going to Bush was my lifelong dream.

By 8th grade Scotty had made his own group of friends. They were the swishy boys. None of them did sports and none of them were popular. There was one fat boy, one super-skinny boy, and one boy who might've been good-looking if it wasn't for his bad skin. I was glad that Scotty was out of my life. But, I'll admit, I sometimes thought how nice it would be to have access again to the Fife's swimming pools and all that land.

But my hopes for an athletic scholarship to Bush Prep were dashed as I was still waiting for my 'growth spurt' when I turned fourteen and still only five-foot-two [1.56 m]. Even my buddies would joke about how I looked more like I was twelve. But I was still popular and I knew I was good looking. Some girls would make remarks about how young I looked. But a lot of the girls would giggle and look at me with a funny expression like they were undressing me in their heads. I also figured out there were some men who looked at me the same way, including my fifty-something math teacher. And sometimes I would catch Scotty staring at me and looking like he was dreaming of something nasty.

Meanwhile, I found out that Scotty would be going to Bush Prep School the following year. I had been accepted to my dream school. But without a scholarship the fees and tuition would bankrupt my family. I actually tried to drop hints that my dad might enslave one of my younger brothers to pay for my education, and did so in a light and joking way. My dad stayed just as light and joking when he remarked, "Wally, you're the best looking of my three sons. If I'm going to get a decent price for anyone in this house it would be you." That made me drop the subject fast.

My dad did mention that Mr. Fife had granted some scholarships to the children of favored employees. Dad told me that Mr. Fife had asked about me and he suggested I should make a point to visit his office when Mr. Fife was around. I did exactly that after school one day and tried to act surprised that Mr. Fife was in my dad's office. The boss was older than most of my friend's dads. He was a heavyset, gray-haired man in his late 50s. He seemed especially pleased to see me that day and extended an invitation to a graduation party he was planning for Scotty that weekend. That gave me the ideal chance to mention that I had been accepted to Bush, the same as Scotty. "I'm not sure whether I could go there because of finances. But it sure would be fun to be together with Scotty at the same school." (I was laying on the lies pretty thick.)

That prompted Mr. Fife to invite me and my dad to go along on his shopping trip to help choose Scotty's graduation present. My dad and I both hurried after Mr. Fife. In the elevator the older man looked me over and told me that rules stated a person had to be at least sixteen to visit a slave trading establishment. I had only just turned fourteen. But Mr. Fife chuckled and said that a man as rich as he was could get away with things regular people could not.

I hadn't realized we would be going to look at slaves. I had never been to a slave showroom and – with our one middle-aged household slave – I knew very little about slaves.

Of course we were ushered into the most luxurious private showroom at our local Bodoni & Felch branch. Mr. Fife explained to the unctuous salesman that he wanted a body slave for his son to take away to prep school, a boy who was smart enough to care for his young master's needs including most of his schoolwork, a boy capable of sexually servicing males and nice-looking enough to be a status symbol at the snooty campus. Three cute boys were ushered into our presence, each in slave display position: hands behind their heads, legs spread apart, chests out and heads bowed. They were each around thirteen or fourteen and dressed in white slave briefs (that looked very similar to the white briefs younger boys wore, and which my father still insisted I wear even though all the other boys my age had switched to boxers).

Their white slave shorts were soon pushed down revealing their totally shaved cocks, which grew to full erections on a voice command from Mr. Fife. (Apparently being able to get erect on command was part of slave training.) I looked over at my dad. He seemed to be looking away from me, like he was embarrassed for me to see him here. He crossed his legs tight.

Mr. Fife first examined a tall, well-built boy with black hair and a deep complexion – likely Latino of some kind. He rubbed the boy's nipples and hefted his balls. Then he ordered the boy to turn and bend over. Mr. Fife shoved his index finger the full distance up the boy's rectum and there was no reaction from the slave. "How long have you been enslaved, boy?" the gruff man asked. The boy respectfully replied that he had been born at a slave breeding facility in Puerto Rico. Mr. Fife turned to the B&F salesman and said, "I don't want any bred slaves." As the Latino boy was led off, the older man turned to my father and said, "Those breeding farms turn out hundreds with the same sire. I don't want my son finding that there are four other slaves on his campus identical to his own."

The man was pontificating now. "Plus, there's some fun missing with a bred slave. With a boy who's recently been enslaved, there's the fun of breaking him in, turning him from free boy to a piece of property to be used." There was something almost frightening about the way Mr. Fife was talking.

He decided the second slave was too muscular, too much larger than Cyril for his son to use him comfortably. Mr. Fife then turned to my father in the most casual way and asked, "Do you have an appreciation for a good piece of slave flesh?"

"Well, sir, I can appreciate a fine slave like I appreciate a fine imported automobile. But I couldn't afford either one." That answer got a chuckle from Mr. Fife.

Then Mr. Fife turned to me and asked bluntly, "How about you, boy, do you enjoy using a slaveboy's mouth and ass? Maybe you haven't had any opportunity yet. But do you dream about it, boy?"

I knew that it was standard for men to use young male slaves for their pleasure. And I knew that society considered it appropriate for a straight man, married, totally heterosexual, to dip his dick into a handsome slaveboy. But I just shrugged my shoulders and said, "I suppose I just can't get over the fact that it's a guy and I'm just not turned on to guys in the least."

The man raised his eyebrows and said, "Well, Scotty has been raised as a proper gentleman. And a proper gentleman appreciates the exquisite pleasures that can be had at the hands and mouth and nether regions of a cute enslaved boy." I accepted his implication that I had not been raised as a proper gentleman, and resisted the temptation to tell him about all the boys at school who had used Scotty's mouth for their own pleasure.

Mr. Fife looked over the third boy and declared him 'too willowy.' The man turned to me and said, "You know that Scotty has a nasty temper at times?" I remembered that the rich boy had thrown tantrums over the years. Mr. Fife gripped the thin boy's bony ass and said, "Scotty really enjoys working over a slaveboy with a paddle or a strap. This boy would crumble at the first barrage of blows."

While we waited for the next group of slaveboys to be brought in for display, Mr. Fife told me a story about one of his household slaves. "That boy gave an exasperated look in response to one of Scotty's commands. He didn't think Scotty saw it, but he did. Scotty gave one glance to me and I nodded. You see, since all those slaves are my property, he needs to ask my permission before administering any serious punishment. That's why having his own slave will be such a nice thing for my son. He can do as he likes with his own property. But, anyway, Scotty laid into that boy, first with a cane, then with a belt – very impressive patterns across the slave's back and ass and legs. And I can assure you that particular slave now has the most servile and humble attitude around his betters."

I kept my opinions to myself. I had never seen my father administer more than three whacks to our household slave, and they were never very rough. Perhaps Mr. Fife was thinking he knew what was on my mind because he remarked, "Scotty may never be a hulking muscle man, but he has developed great upper body strength. He has much more power in his arms and his torso than a typical eighth grader."

The next group of slaveboys entered and Mr. Fife examined them thoroughly. He dismissed the first for being too old and the second one for being too perfectly handsome. The third boy was Chinese and Mr. Fife seemed pleased with his body. He snapped his fingers and the boy fell to his knees. Then Mr. Fife pulled his already-erect penis out of his expensive pants. I looked away awkwardly. I had no interest in seeing an old man's erection. But I couldn't help looking back when I realized the Chinese boy was deep throating my dad's boss right in front of me.

Mr. Fife stopped the pistoning of his hips and asked my dad, "Would you like to have a go at his throat? He's very good." Dad just shook my head in the negative and blushed deep crimson. He crossed his legs in the other direction. Was that an erection in my dad's pants? Or was it just the way the folds of fabric went?

Then Mr. Fife smiled at me and said, "How about you, boy? Would you like to put your little peanut into this slaveboy's mouth? He's very good." I just blushed, looked down and mumbled something. The business executive pulled his still-engorged cock out of the slave's mouth and didn't care that dad and I could see this part of his anatomy as the Chinese slaveboy tucked it back into the older man's pants. "I'm going to save my load in case there's another boy I want to try out."

Mr. Fife seemed engrossed in some papers inside a folder he had been handed. He nodded his head and said to me and my dad. "That last boy comes from a very fine family. His mother is a doctor. His father a bank executive. Of course they're not nearly as wealthy as I am. But they are certainly well off."

My father blurted out, "But how could parents like that enslave their son? I thought most of these boys were from the lower end of society?"

Mr. Fife smiled indulgently and explained, "The problem a few years ago, after they had lowered the age of use for slaveboys, is that the only young stuff on the market was low-grade – malnourished, completely uneducated, years of poor hygiene, simply too much work to make a boy like that useful much less presentable. Then we got the limited enslavement laws. You've heard of those of course?"

My father and I both nodded and the executive continued, "A boy like that cute Asian we just saw – his parents have two younger sons at home. Who knows whether either of those boys will make it to the sales floor? Anyway, the boy is thirteen. Right at the start of a rebellious period, a time in life when boys make foolish choices, give parents nothing but grief, and often can get into deep trouble. I don't have to tell you how many 15- and 16-year-old boys find themselves enslaved for life."

The older man was lecturing us now. "Meanwhile, while having constant headaches and fears about their teenage son, they're also worried about how to pay his way through college. But these parents have wisely chosen to put their boy on the market with a five-year-contract. They bring him to a reputable place like B&F. For the next five years, that boy will be cared for, get proper nutrition and exercise, and learn obedience. No chance of a slaveboy driving drunk or knocking up a girl, right?"

He was now standing very close to my father, their faces only about a foot [30 cm] apart. "At the end of five years, the boy will be eighteen. If I should choose to purchase him as a gift for Scotty, that boy will get a good education at Bush. Of course he will be sitting on the floor of Scotty's classes, but he will hear the same lectures, write the first drafts of all Scotty's essays and research papers. He will have a spotless record, no run-ins with the police. And he will be at an age to start college."

Then Mr. Fife turned to me and seemed to tower over me as he said, "Unless the boy turns out to be very stupid. If he is disobedient and hard to break, of course he will have to be paddled or tawsed or whipped."

I couldn't help myself. "B-but what about the scars once he's a free boy?"

A smile broke out on Mr. Fife's face as he softly said, "Well, that's something the slaveboy should keep in mind before he shows any attitude toward his owners."

My father quietly asked, "B-but the uses of the boy 3; the boy's 3; ummm, rear end?"

Mr. Fife stepped away from us and tossed off the remark, "The sphincter is a very resilient little muscle. Returns to its original shape."

As they marched in the next three slaveboys for inspection, Mr. Fife added as an afterthought, "Of course there are some families that come to the end of the five years and they find that their sons are such natural slaves, boys who love cock, and would never be happy returning to free boy status again. Well what could those families do but extend the enslavement to lifetime." He chuckled and looked at me in a way that made me very uncomfortable. Then I saw my father was looking at me in the same way.

Mr. Fife sat beside my father and whispered loud enough for me to hear. "This is an erotically charged atmosphere. And the management certainly doesn't mind. They want these boys to get experience sucking cocks." My father glanced at me nervously and Mr. Fife nodded to him.

In the third group of slaves we saw, Mr. Fife dismissed the first one for being too gay. "I don't want a slave that might fall in love with Scotty. Besides, where's the fun in breaking in a new slaveboy if that boy is already eager for cock." The second slave was sent out because his ass was too flat. The final boy was a redhead, short with a wrestler's build. Once again, Mr. Fife pulled his erection from his suit and stuffed it into the redheaded boy's mouth. He moaned, "His mouth may look small, but he sure knows what to do with it."

It was then that we were served a delicious beverage made of grapes with honey and crushed mint. I gulped down half of it instantly addicted to the refreshing flavor. But no sooner had he been handed the full glass than Mr. Fife turned quickly and I was covered from head to toe with purple liquid seeping into my clothes. Mr. Fife and the B&F salesman were both terribly apologetic, the latter dabbing at my clothes. Mr. Fife was instantly giving orders to "Get these clothes cleaned immediately and get this boy washed up and into something clean."

I thought of protesting that they didn't need to go to that trouble, but I realized I was wearing my nicest slacks and a new shirt, and that grape stains would not come out of the fabric easily. The B&F salesman led me back through the curtain where the slaves had entered. He guided me through a door that led to an open shower room. "The sooner we get those clothes soaking, the better our chances of removing the grape stains." I was a little self-conscious when I started pulling off my clothes. The man snapped his fingers and said, "No need to be shy. I see plenty of young bucks like you bare ass every day." Yes, but I wasn't a slave, dammit.

I was left in my white briefs, which were as clean as when I put them on that morning. The B&F salesman seemed a little too interested in my nearly nude body. But what choice did I have? He told me to use the shower since my forearms were turning purple. I waited for him to leave before peeling down my white briefs and turning on the water. I made the shower as short as possible. The soap was harsh and the water never warmed up. Also I didn't like being totally naked in this place.

Just as I was pulling up my white briefs, the door of the shower room flew open and two of the uniformed B&F attendants entered shouting, "So there you are, boy! Who put you in this room?"

I began to answer that I thought the name of the employee was Mark or Mike when I was attacked by a slave prod. I fell to the ground writhing in agony. "Look, you idiots, I'm not a slave I'm one of the 3;." But before I could go further the slave prod was touched to my balls. I never felt such pain before and it kept on coursing through my body. I was gasping and weeping and unable to speak.

The younger attendant said, "You're lucky they want you out on display or else we'd leave stripes across that bubble butt of yours, boy." The older attendant grabbed the front of my briefs and pulled them away from my body muttering, "Good, he's been fully shaved." I know I blushed at that comment. Nobody had shaved me, I'd just been slow in growing hair down there. But he kept mumbling, "When did this piece of merchandise come in. Not even a temporary collar." He snapped a yellow plastic collar round my neck, just like the ones I had seen on the boys Mr. Fife examined.

Where in heck was that B&F employee who had originally taken me to this room? If only he would return, everything would be straightened out.

Just as I regained my bearings, they suddenly bent me over a low tile wall and I felt an enema nozzle pressing into my butthole. But before I could make another protest a hand shoved a ball gag into my mouth and strapped it around my head.

"We're doing you a favor, slaveboy. If you keep on talking you're only going to earn yourself more electric prods." I was held in place as the first load of enema water entered my struggling body. The two attendants really were fast. Within six minutes they had completed my preparations and dressed me in my own white briefs. The older attendant caressed my face and said, "I hope the rich guy doesn't buy this one. I'd sure like to try out these soft lips when we bring him back here."

As I was pushed through the curtains into the display room where Mr. Fife was talking to the B&F employee with his back turned to me, I realized that my penis was fully erect and pointing up toward my left hip trapped by the tight white fabric. I didn't see my father in the room. I couldn't call out to Mr. Fife because I was gagged. And with one of the attendants standing nearby holding the slave prod pointed at my crotch, I wasn't going to try anything foolish. I assumed slave display position. Then I felt the attendant's rough hands pulling down my briefs. Couldn't he see that these were white free boy underpants and not slave shorts? Well, I guess you had to look very closely to notice the differences.

My four inch [10 cm] cut cock popped out at a 90-degree angle in front of me.

Mr. Fife finally turned toward me but at the same time he waved his hand and commanded that all three of the displayed slaves (including me) should turn around and bend over at the waist. I knew what was coming. But the attendant with the slave prod was still poised to strike me if I tried to move at all. My dad's boss made it through feeling up the other two bare butts and came up behind me. He caressed my ass cheeks and muttered, "Very nice. Firm muscles yet with just the right amount of bounce. And it's a lovely shape with such buttery soft skin." Then he shoved his index finger the full length up my virgin hole as he chuckled, "Now this is what I call tight." Even through the ball gag I gave a grunt in protest and tried to pull away from him. My butt was smacked very hard. I realized it was Mr. Fife who had just smacked my bottom. He commanded the attendant to hold me in place as he mumbled, "I expect better from Bodoni & Felch stock." Then I heard a whoosh sound and felt a paddle strike my fleshy buttocks. Nine more smacks followed in quick succession.

When I was still smarting from the tenth swat on my ass, Mr. Fife said, "Get this boy on his knees and I'll try out his mouth." I was turned around and pushed into position and I was horrified when I saw that Mr. Fife's large penis was already sticking out of his expensive pants, fully erect, along with his big hairy balls and thick wisps of his gray pubes. His erection slapped my face and I could see the pearly droplets of precum dangling from his cockhead. The ball gag was removed from my mouth at the same instant that the dripping cock made contact with my lips. "Please, Mr. Fife, it's me 3;." The man looked down at my face and seemed startled. But before he could react the slave prod hit the back of my neck. My mouth opened wide and I guess I fell forward. The large stiff penis thrust deep and hit the back of my throat, then started to pulsate. I think Mr. Fife grabbed onto my head to steady himself. Each time the cock pulsed and slapped the roof of my mouth, it shot hot thick cream down my throat. I had to swallow to keep from choking on the load. But even so there was viscous liquid spilling out of my lips and down my chin.

I fell to the ground and was aware of a string of spittle going from that older man's cockhead to my lips. Mr. Fife started shouting, "How did this happen? This is a free boy here. This boy was my guest here. This is an outrage." That's when I saw that my father had come out of a curtained alcove and was frozen as he stared at the scene. I was also shocked when I saw my father's thick stiff penis disappear as he pulled up his boxer shorts. The cute redheaded slaveboy was standing beside my dad and helping to pull his pants up.

Meanwhile, I was being helped to my feet. But when I stood up tall Mr. Fife was staring at my erection. I blushed deep red. Could anything be worse than the fact that I had accidentally given a blowjob to my dad's boss? The only thing worse was the fact that after being paddled as a slave and sucking a cock, I had an unrelenting hardon. The attendant was now very apologetic for his mistake. He helped pull my briefs up my legs. "Please, sir, don't get me fired. I have 19 years with B&F and I've never made a mistake like this. But you can understand seeing you naked in the shower with just the briefs and no pubes and you a good-looking boy 3;"

Mr. Fife shouted louder. "Quit your prattling, man! Get out of our sight, you incompetent boob." At the same time Mr. Fife's big penis was being licked clean by a handsome blond slaveboy and then was replaced into his expensive pants. The older man smiled at me and said, "It looks like you need taking care of, boy."

I blushed deep read and my stupid reply was, "I don't understand why it's hard like this."

"You can't still be insistent that you won't accept a blowjob from a slaveboy? Not after you just swallowed a load of cream yourself." Then he changed tacks and said, "Look, boy, I owe you for that terrible mistake. I need to make this up to you, boy. I need us to forget the fact that I accidentally ejaculated into the mouth of a free boy. Let's see, boy. What if I made it possible for you to be at Bush Prep next year with Scotty?"

In spite of all I'd just been through, I grinned from ear to ear. I sat back in the chair I'd originally occupied as the B&F salesman whispered to Mr. Fife. The older man looked at me and snorted, "You can't be serious after what he's been through?" Then relented, "Oh well." He turned to me and explained, "It won't look right to the slaveboys who come in here to see you as you are and seated with free men. Stand over by that wall, hands behind your head in slave display position."

"Y-y-yes sir," I was so thrilled at the offer to attend Bush Prep that I obeyed the man instantly. The B&F man was solicitously explaining why they couldn't take the yellow temporary collar off me without setting off an alarm.

I stood like that through the next group of three slaveboys. Mr. Fife examined them thoroughly, but dismissed all three for a variety of reasons. When that group left, Mr. Fife approached me and looked down at my slave shorts – I mean my white briefs. I realized that there was now a large wet patch where my cockhead was leaking. He whispered to me, "Turn around now, boy. That might be better. But maintain the slave display position." I thanked him for being considerate of me but that meant I never got to see the last group of three slaveboys.

As I stood there I remembered the feeling of the old man's finger up my butthole and the feeling of the paddle he applied to my ass cheeks. I started wondering whether there would be some opportunity for me to do some academic project that would apply this experience as a free boy having been mistaken for and treated as a slave. But then I realized that the students at Bush were so snooty it would be best if I never spoke of this incident. I then thought about the way white briefs outlined the buttcheeks and accented the crack and I realized that the men in the room might as well have been looking at my naked ass.

When I finally turned back around I discovered there were two other men in the room, each one around Mr. Fife's age and dressed in equally impressive suits. One man was the manager of this branch of Bodoni & Felch and the other man was Mr. Fife'a attorney. Neither of these men shook my hand. I didn't mind because I was holding my hands in front of my crotch. I didn't understand why my erection was still fully stiff – perhaps it was the pressure and feeling of the fabric of the shorts?

My dad was no longer in the room. Right in front of these men, Mr. Fife asked once again if I didn't want to use a slaveboy's mouth. I was adamant that I did not. "Look, Wally, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. This is a very sexually charged atmosphere, boy. I can't leave here without shooting off a load." The other men chuckled and I just blushed. "Before you get back into your clothes, we'll let you use a private room so you can take care of your little problem, boy. Little problem? Looks more like a big problem to me, eh?"

The B&F salesman piped in saying, "And this room has a lock on the door."

I followed the man to a small space that was the size of a department store dressing room. There was a mirror on one wall and all the other walls were decorated with photographs of naked slaveboys. I blushed at the décor. Just before I shut the door, Mr. Fife added in, "When you take down the shorts check your buttcheeks in the mirror to see if I left any marks there, boy. Massage your cheeks as you watch them in the mirror, boy. Also please spread your cheeks and check your hole back there and make sure my finger didn't do any damage. You'll probably need to feel around with your finger a bit."

I was a bit shaken up by the events of the day. But I felt good about the fact that Mr. Fife was being so very nice to me. I did as he suggested, feeling my butt cheeks as I looked over my shoulder, and trying my best to examine my hole in the mirror, feeling around for any damage.

Then I turned my attention to my aching penis. I looked around at the pictures on the walls of the small booth. It's not that I was queer for the boys in the pictures, but since they were around my age, I was curious how they compared to me. I would look from one of the pictures to my own reflection in the mirror. It didn't take long for me to splooge a wet load all over the mirror.

I pulled up my briefs and tried to open the door, but it was locked. A voice from the other side asked, "All done in there?" When I said I was the voice asked if I had cleaned up my mess. I looked at the globs on the mirror and said I didn't have anything to wipe it up with. The voice told me to use my slave shorts. I felt like correcting him and telling him these were white briefs and not slave shorts. At first I was hesitant. But then I figured it was my own cum so it shouldn't be such a big deal. But when I asked for some clothes to put on, the voice replied that I should just pull up the slave shorts again.

I pulled my underpants up slowly and I could feel the wet goop against my dick, my balls and my ass. But once I had done that and I asked for the door to be opened, I was just told to hold tight.

When the door finally opened my relief was short-lived. Suddenly, the same two uniformed B&F guards who had apprehended me before grabbed me, spun me around, and cuffed my wrists to the back of my temporary slave collar. "Hey, we've been through this before. I'm a free boy, not a 3;."

"That's what you think, boy!" the older one cackled. He stuffed the ball gag back into my mouth and I was unceremoniously marched back into the room where Mr. Fife and my father were waiting, along with the other two dignified men.

I tried to indicate with my eyes that this had been a mistake and that my father should help me. But he seemed to ignore me as he came forward and stroked my face. "I saw the closed-circuit camera of you playing with your penis in that little room, son," my father said in a whisper.

"Now, now," Mr. Fife interrupted, "you shouldn't be calling him 'son' anymore. He has to learn to accept his new status."

My dad nodded and continued, "I saw the way you played with your butthole and pleasured yourself there, boy. I saw the way you looked at all those naked pictures of boys as you excited your penis. It was handy that Mr. Fife's lawyer was here and able to draw up a contract."

Mr. Fife slapped me on the shoulder, "Now calm down, boy. You've only been sold into slavery for five years. You'll be going off to Bush Prep with Scotty. So how bad will that be?" he chuckled and my dad chuckled along with him.

I was still gagged so unable to say anything in my defense. I was placed in a crate and my dad left alongside Mr. Fife. They gave me a shot of something that calmed me and helped me sleep even in the uncomfortable confines of the crate.

When I came to it was the following day. Slaves took me out of the crate, uncuffed me and removed the gag. I began crying and telling them this was a mistake, that my dad had been tricked into selling me to Mr. Fife. They seemed nice enough to me, but they just laughed and said they had heard it all before and that I should save my breath. "There are a lot worse masters than Master Fife," one boy said.

I looked at him and said, "But it's Scotty who's my new master." Everything seemed to freeze for a moment as they looked at each other. They just shook their heads and mumbled, "A slave's gotta do what a slave's gotta do."

They gave me multiple enemas, shaved my body even though I didn't need any shaving, trimmed my hair down to a very short slave cut, and then they handed me my clothes. I was surpsised. These looked like the regular clothes I would wear to school, including my own underpants, socks and sneakers. Even though I still had on the temporary slave collar, I dressed quickly. Maybe Mr. Fife had a change of heart and I would be freed?

But once I was dressed, my wrists were cuffed to the back of my collar, my feet were also chained together, and I was pushed backwards into a cage that barely had room for me standing up. The bars on the front of the cage were closed. I could feel the front bars against my body at the same time as I felt the back bars against my body. There was no room to move.

And then the cage was wrapped in wrapping paper. There was movement. I could hear the sounds of a party all around. Then I heard Mr. Fife presenting the gift to his son. There were Scotty's hands pulling away at the paper. When I first saw his face he was already smiling, but when he recognized me in the cage his grin grew even wider and he was jumping up and down with excitement.

So much is a blur after that. Once I was out of the cage Scotty immediately grabbed at my crotch and at my ass. He pulled down my pants and my briefs and fingered my ass in front of the entire crowd. I began sobbing but everyone ignored me.

Within ten minutes big knives had been used to strip off all my clothes. I was kept chained up to a post where anyone at the party could come by and cop a feel. My English teacher really got into it and grunted in my ear that he wished he owned me.

When the party wound down, I was led by a leash to Scotty's chambers. Scotty had some friends staying the night – these were the sissyboys that we all made fun of. Aside from Scotty there was one boy who was way too skinny and had bad skin, and another boy who was very fat and smelled bad. When the door was closed the three of them began squealing like little schoolgirls.

They took turns tongue kissing me, their hands everywhere. Then I was put to work sucking Scotty's cock. Scotty bent me over for my first fucking. It hurt a bit but I didn't have time to concentrate on my butthole since both of the other queeny boys were feeding me dick down my throat.

Most of the night was spent humiliating me. I was dressed in a jockstrap and made to grovel on the floor and lick each of their feet clean. I was made to serve them wearing nothing but a frilly small apron. I was given some of my own clothes to put on. But only so they could make me strip to music.

Of course each of these activities made the boys hard again. Eventually, Scotty let his other two buddies fuck my ass. As they whispered together I figured out these boys would have much preferred if I would fuck them. But I knew such things were not done with slaveboys. It's only proper for the master to do the fucking.

The following day Scotty went off to visit a relative. I thought I'd get a chance to rest that night. But I was cleaned up, dressed in my own white briefs, and ushered to Mr. Fife's room. I was shocked to find the old man nearly naked wearing just his boxer shorts. He pulled me onto his lap and began kissing me on the mouth, then licking my neck and chest.

He wrapped his lips around my ear for a wet kiss. Then with his lips still there he grumbled, "I knew you were a straight boy all along. That grape concoction guaranteed you and your dad would both have hardons that wouldn't quit." His thick finger snaked into the legband of my white briefs and rubbed along my asshole as he snickered, "I'm gonna get my fat hairy old man cock up your ass, straight boy." With that he ripped the white fabric of my briefs and pushed me down onto his manhood. Taking the boy dicks of Scotty and his friends hadn't prepared me for the girth of this monster cock. I passed out.

When I came to Mr. Fife was on top of me fucking my ass. He had wrapped my short legs around his middle and I was impaled on his thick penis. When he saw I was awake he started kissing me in earnest, shoving his tongue down my throat. I was glued to the old man with his sweat as he rammed my ass until finally he shoved in deep and collapsed on top of me. I felt the heat of something oozing into my butthole and felt it spilling out of me.

It turns out that Bush Prep provides a queer dorm for boys who like boys. Of course that's where Scotty moved in. And of course I became the favorite slaveboy for use by all the queers in the building. I knelt in the toilet every morning so they could use my mouth. Scotty would always move all my punishments out to the courtyard so a crowd could watch – and Scotty often found reasons to punish me, maybe just to show off his skill with a paddle or a strap. Soon enough I became an expert at sucking cock. I even learned to take it up the ass without too much pain.

On a few occasions when nobody else was around, Scotty would play this game with me. He called the game "Husband and Wife." Only he wanted me to play the husband, to treat him tenderly and romantically, and to end up fucking him in the butt. One time as I was fucking him he moaned breathlessly in my ear, "This is how I always dreamed it would be between you and me. If only you could have made this dream come true it would've been so wonderful for both of us."

Five minutes later when I finished fucking Scotty he sneered down at me, "If you ever breathe a word of this to anyone I will find reason to have you castrated. Do you understand me, boy?" I nodded and said, "Yes, Master."

Two years later, Scotty got bored with me. I was shipped off to serve his Uncle Cyril in a community out in California. I soon discovered that this was a senior citizen community for old gays who liked boys.

Master Cyril was quite old, very fat, and not at all appealing in any sense. But I soon discovered that the old men of this community were much gentler and kinder with me than Scotty and his schoolmates. Although his body repulsed me, I liked sleeping in bed with Cyril's arms around me.

But I've now turned 19 and I know it's the end of my five year enslavement. I begged Master Cyril to keep me with him. He pointed out that I didn't even know whether my father had extended my enslavement or ended it. I said I didn't care. I felt safe and secure with him. But it was not to be. I was already too old to serve as a slaveboy in this community.

I was enclosed in a box and put on a slave transport. Would I be returning to my father and to freedom? Or would I remain a slave? And if so who would my new master be? I closed my eyes and let the whirring of the slave transport put me to sleep.

The End