Mister Red

Taking Wally to Gaytown

Chapter 1

My two sons were always a bit of a disappointment to me. I'm a big strapping fellow, six-foot-two [1.88 m] and 285 pounds [130 kg]. I had been star of the football team when I was in high school. But I had a weakness for petite women and the pretty little filly I married came from a small-boned family. Both of my boys were small for their ages. Their only sports trophies were in swimming and gymnastics, not the sort of thing a dad like me likes to boast about.

But I always figured my sons, Wally and Will, were good Christian boys. They went to church and participated in all the church youth activities. Wally had signed the celibacy pledge at church as had his girlfriend, Louanne. I had faith that I had raised good boys. That faith was shaken in the worst way the week after school let out for the summer.

Will was twelve and had gone away on a camping trip with his best buddy, Austin, and Austin's dad Bob, who was one of my oldest pals. As far as I knew my older boy Wally was out at the community swimming pool with some of the boys from school. Wally had been accepted to prep school for ninth grade and would be turning fourteen the next day. I went into the boys' bedroom looking for some papers from the prep school. My boys are pretty messy, typical teenage boys in that sense. As I tried to figure out where Wally may have put the papers, I turned to the built-in shelves above my older son's bed. On the lowest shelf there was a pile of sloppily folded t-shirts. I recognized some of Wally's favorite t-shirts. Under the shirts, I saw a pile of papers. I picked up the t-shirts and moved them aside. At the top of the pile of papers I saw Wally's 8th grade science notes. I lifted up the papers from a random spot in the middle of the pile. As I did so, a large manila envelope fell to the floor. A bunch of photographs slipped out of the envelope. I looked down and must have frozen on the spot for at least five minutes.

There on the floor at my feet were photographs of naked men. Not just naked men but men performing odious sex acts on each other. I slowly moved to the floor. I didn't want to touch these disgusting pictures, but I knew that I must. Gingerly I picked up a few pictures that had clearly been ripped from magazines. I turned over one of these sheets and saw a picture on the other side of the page that made my skin run cold. I saw a black man with a white man beneath him, and the white man was in a position that a good Christian wife might take for her husband's sake . Now, I'm a strong man. I can withstand all sorts of pain. But believe me when I say that one glance at this picture and I bounded from the room feeling ill to my stomach.

In two minutes flat I got and drank a bicarbonate of soda. I didn't dare leave those pictures lying on the floor. I had no idea when Wally would be returning home. I braced myself and went back into my sons' bedroom to look at more of the pictures. Underneath the pages from magazines, I found some snapshots that had been taken from an instant camera. None of the snapshots showed faces, but I saw youthful, slim torsos with Speedo swimsuits. The swimsuits either showed obscene bulges and tents, or else they were pulled down to thighs or knees displaying private parts which were either hairless or had a very light scattering of hairs. It was obvious that these pictures had been taken of some of Wally's cohorts on the middle school school swim team. Nervously I stuffed some of these in my pocket and looked further.

You may question my veracity if I tell you what I found in some of the pictures still stuffed in the envelope. There was one picture that showed a young man, perhaps still a teen, clean shaven and smooth chested, on his knees with his hands cuffed behind his back. His face was at the crotch of a large hairy middle-aged man who was clad in black leather. The older man's penis was fully exposed and rampant and the handcuffed boy was touching his tongue to the large organ.

Now I consider myself a worldly man – albeit a good Christian one. I know that slave boys are used in this manner. On occasion I have used a slave boy's mouth in just such a way. Since I've never had slaves of my own, this was usually as part of some celebration: a bachelor party, a retirement party at work. But I saw no slave collar on the boy in the picture. I saw no slave numbers on his upper chest. I wanted to make sense of this picture. Even more urgently, I wanted to make sense of why a son of mine should be looking at a picture like this. Then I became aware that this page was stuck to the next page, which showed the man's penis fully disappeared into the boy's mouth. When I realized that the pages were likely stuck together with the remains of my own boy's masturbatory session I tossed the papers out of my hand as if they were on fire. But then I knew what I had to do. I gritted my teeth, put those pages in my pocket along with some others I had taken, and put all the other pictures back into the envelope. I took care to return the envelope and everything on that shelf just as it had been. I knew Wally would be returning and I didn't want to raise his suspicions.

I immediately phoned Rev. Flick and told him I had an emergency and had to speak with him immediately. The good man made the time for me and I was in his study in less than an hour from the time I had first found the pictures. He kept his distance from the pictures as if these were the face of Satan himself. All this time the good reverend kept shaking his head and muttering, "Oh, Lord, be merciful on the soul of young Wallace. He knows not what he does." When I finished leafing through the pictures he looked me in the eye gravely and said, "You know the equation: faggot equals slave." I slumped into a chair as if all the air had been knocked out of me. The good reverend began offering some comfort, saying, "I know the loss of your son will be grievous for you, but consider that this is the best thing for the boy. You know that studies by our own church have shown that homos are much happier in slavery. After all, as a slave he will get to serve people. He will get to be used sexually by men and, since he'll be a slave, this will not be abhorrent to the Lord."

I held up my hand and said, "Reverend, you don't have to convince me. I know this is the only course of action." Within an hour we had gathered Sheriff Taylor and Ace Brady in the reverend's study. Ace was a lawyer and a good old boy who could be trusted to be discreet. As soon as I explained everything to Taylor and Brady, the sheriff flipped open his cell phone, punched in a number, and spoke in hushed whispers. He had a troubled look on his face as he turned to us and said, "That was my son Brad. He told me that he just left the town pool and that he had seen Wally in the changing room. Do you gentlemen know what that means?" his voice was full of foreboding. "That means a known queer has seen my son and probably another dozen of the flower of boyhood of our town in the altogether! In his homosexual mind he has filed away pictures of my son and perhaps even your young boy, Mr. Brady, to fill his repulsive queer fantasies."

Ace said, "We must rid our community of this scourge as fast as possible." I nodded my head and Ace made a phone call. He hung up less than a minute later and said, "This will all be handled today and very discreetly."

I went home and found Wally up in his bedroom listening to some of his godless music. I thought about the ways in which he was a sensitive boy. He liked poetry and he cried at movies. Why hadn't I seen before how obviously homosexual my son was? I also had to admit he was a good-looking boy. He had let his dark blond hair grow out since the swim team season had ended. His body was trim and fat free. Yes, he would do well as a slave. There would certainly be some wealthy homo who would want to own him.

I asked Wally to come with me to Sheriff Taylor's office. I told him I just needed to get some papers from the sheriff and wanted his company. He's a sweet natured boy and he hopped in my car without question. I walked him into the sheriff's office with my arm over his shoulder and he greeted the assembled men with a pleasant smile. The reverend was there, along with Ace Brady, Sheriff Taylor, and good old Judge Snow – that's who Ace had called from the reverend's study.

Judge Snow had the papers ready and the sheriff had a slave collar ready. I held my arm on Wally's shoulder as I began to explain to him. "Son, I know your secret now. I know that you're a homosexual. Now you know our church's view on that and you know that I am in total agreement with the church. Faggot equals slavery."

"Dad, what are you talking about?" Wally asked, his voice rising in pitch. "I'm not a homosexual. I've never done anything with a guy."

There was outrage in Ace Brady's voice as he said, "And what about those disgusting pictures? I don't even want to know which of the boys you got to pull down their swimsuits. But I'll tell you 3;"

Wally's eyes were wide. "Pictures? What pictures?"

The reverend raised his hands and said, "We don't need to go into the tawdry details. All we need to do is process the new slave."

Sheriff Taylor stepped forward and snapped, "Remove all articles of clothing, boy."

Wally turned to me and said, "Dad, no."

I was firm, "Strip for the men, boy. You're officially enslaved now."

His eyes grew fiery as he shouted, "No fucking way!" An instant later my oldest son lay writhing in pain on the floor, moaning. I hadn't even seen Sheriff Taylor take out the slave prod and touch it to Wally's body, but I saw it now in the sheriff's hand. He spoke quietly, "Watch your mouth, slave boy. You were given an order. Now on your feet and strip down bare ass naked, boy."

Wally stumbled to his feet. His hands were shaking and he was looking down at the ground as he pulled off his t-shirt and let it fall to the floor. He easily kicked off his sandals. He pulled open his cargo pants and they slid down his legs. When he was stripped to just his white briefs he looked so vulnerable. But then I shook my head and reminded myself: This was no longer my innocent son Wally I was looking at. This was the body of a homosexual, of a boy who had perverted fantasies about men doing despicable acts to his young smooth body. I knew that I was a good father. I would see to it that my boy got his wish come true.

Sheriff Taylor nodded to the boy's underpants and said, "Everything, boy. Or should I turn up the power on the slave prod." Wally let the briefs slide down his legs as he held one hand over his exposed genitals. "Hands behind your head, boy," the sheriff snapped. When Wally complied, he revealed that his penis was fully erect. It was sticking up at more than a 90-degree angle and there even seemed to be a bead of wetness at the tip.

"Oh, Wally," I shook my head in disgust. "The truth is revealed."

There was a sob in his voice as he turned to me and said, "Da-a-a-ad, it's just I'm nervous and scared and when I feel that way 3;"

"Face forward, boy," Reverend Flick shouted.

Wally turned to the man and snapped, "Shut up. I'm trying to talk to my father."

With that, Sheriff Taylor hit my son so hard that the boy fell back against me. I pushed him forward into the sheriff's arms. There was no sense in trying to soften any blows for Wally. He was a slave now and would have to live with his lot.

The sheriff snapped the slave collar around Wally's neck. "This boy better learn to call all free men 'Sir,' and he'll need to learn the proper poses for a slave. My son Brad is president of the Young Slave Handlers Club. I'll send him over to give the boy some pointers."

Wally whined at me, "No, dad. Brad's a bully and an asshole." I knew that Brad was the ex-boyfriend of Louanne, the girl Wally had been dating. But I also knew that my son had gone over the line too many times and still had not accepted his new role as a slave. I grabbed him roughly by the slave collar and bent him over the sheriff's desk. I raised my hand and began to spank Wally like he had never been spanked before. My arm was like a windmill. My son's protests soon faded out to low moans. My hand was feeling numb from smacking his butt so much. Then the reverend handed me a paddle and I kept going. When I was totally out of breath I just let my son's trim body fall to the floor.

The sheriff looked down at my boy and said, "We'll be putting the slave in the holding cell downstairs, so nobody coming in here will see him." The reverend quickly added in, "Make sure his hands are cuffed to the collar so he doesn't abuse himself while down there. His mind should be focused on service to the Lord."

My boy did not look at me as they lifted him up. He did not raise his face, but I could see it was tear stained. He'd had a rough time of it. But I had a rougher time ahead as I thought about how I would explain this to Wally's younger brother. Will idolized his older brother and I felt sure he'd be crushed to find out Wally's fate.

The following day I was led down to the basement of the sheriff's office. There was a small cell inside a windowless gray room. The cell was 6 feet by 6 feet [1.8 x 1.8 m], had a drain in one corner and two bowls in the opposite corner – one for slave biscuits and one for water. When I entered with Sheriff Taylor, Wally eagerly stood up. His penis still looked somewhat stiff but now there was also a patch of dried semen on his belly and his chest. I shook my head as I saw that. "Wally, your hands are cuffed to your collar. And yet you managed to shoot your perverted sperm just as an animal would."

"Dad, it's not what you think," the boy pleaded.

Sheriff Taylor just touched his slave prod and quietly said, "You will address all free men as 'Sir' or 'Master'. The man who was formerly your father is not related to any slave."

"M-master," Wally began, "This isn't my cum. This belongs to Brad Taylor. He tried to make me use my mouth. But he made me 3;"

"Shut up, boy!" the sheriff barked. "My son ain't no fucking homo! He was here to give you a little bit of training as a favor. And just like a slave you're already trying to blame free men for your filthy actions. Now, you will be punished, boy. But we will save that punishment for later because we have to get you ready for a visitor now."

Sheriff Taylor released Wally's handcuffs and then turned a water hose on him. He handed the boy a bar of rough slave soap. I could see Wally shivering from the cold as he scrubbed himself. At least the cold water made his penis deflate. The sheriff then had Wally demonstrate his understanding of slave posture: Rest, Attention, Kneel and the others. Then he was cuffed again and returned to his cell while we went upstairs and waited for the slave trader.

I had met McGee the slave trader before and he was a man I preferred to avoid. But he was knowledgeable, he was local, and he was willing to come down to look at Wally and give an assessment. McGee was so fat as to be virtually round. He wore a loud checked suit with a bright green shirt and matching tie. His clothes were always perfectly pressed and spotless and yet in the worst taste. His hair was grown long on one side in an attempt to cover his bald spot. He wore way too much cologne and yet it was mouthwash he needed most of all.

Wally did a pretty good job of maintaining slave rest position as the trader's stubby fingers touched him all over. Fingers dug into the sides of Wally's pectorals and into the backs of his thighs. Clearly McGee knew how to test a slave's muscles. He began tweaking and twisting Wally's nipples and to my horror I saw my son's penis once again growing to full erection. This sight seemed to please McGee.

"How long has this boy been enslaved?" he asked us without looking away from Wally.

"It would be just over fourteen hours now," I said calculating in my head.

"No training," McGee said loudly, still not looking away from the boy. "He looks like he could be naturally subservient. But he doesn't know anything about being a slave. He hasn't even gotten a slave haircut." McGee then unceremoniously licked one finger and shoved it deep into Wally's anus. Wally howled out an "Ow!"

Now McGee turned to me as he asked, "Virgin up his butt?"

I was ashamed and looked down at the floor as I replied, "I believe he is."

McGee looked at his finger and said, "The kid hasn't even had an enema!" He tried to force his finger into Wally's mouth but the boy struggled and pulled away. McGee smacked my son across the face hard and then shoved his finger in for the boy to lick clean. I saw a twisted look of repulsion on Wally's face. McGee shook his head and said, "And he knows nothing of obedience."

He walked over to me and Sheriff Taylor and said, "It wouldn't even be worth the mileage for me to take him to the county seat. The most I could see this boy bringing in at the county seat is $30,000. That's if you're really lucky. Maybe some housewife thinks he's cute and decides she wants a small slim young houseboy as an ornament. Damn, someone like that probably isn't prepared to go much over $20,000."

I shook my head and said, "This was never about making profits. It turns out the boy is queer and he needs to be made a slave as that's where queers belong."

A grin broke across McGee's face as he said, "On the other hand, I know a place where you could easily get upwards of $80,000, maybe even $100,000 for the boy. And you could get that money today just as he is, without any training, without even getting him a haircut."

My eyes went wide. "Well that's certainly a different tune, McGee. What are you talking about?"

"Gaytown," he said. I was too shocked to respond, so McGee continued. "The Gaytown section of Capitol City. Surely, you've heard of it. There are plenty of homos who aren't enslaved. And plenty of those homos have a lot of money. Let's face it, the boy turned fourteen today, so he's legal for slave sex. There are men in Gaytown who would fancy a boy like Wally here. Because of the type he is, the fact that he hasn't been trained, the fact that he still looks so much like the free boy he was just yesterday, would add to his appeal." Then McGee chuckled the most evil laugh I've ever heard.

I snapped, "Never. I would never set foot among those sodomites. It's enough they have their own neighborhood where they flaunt their perversions, but a good Christian like me would never 3;"

McGee held up his hand and said, "Who said you have to go there, buddy. I'll take the boy there and sell him and I'll just take my standard one-third commission." He was standing behind my boy, pressing his fat body against Wally's slim naked body. His hand was moving sensually down from Wally's chest to his stomach. Wally was looking up at me with anguish in his eyes.

The sheriff snapped, "Eyes to the floor, boy." Then he came beside me and said, "Now hold on. Do you really want to hand one-third of $100,000 to McGee?"

McGee seemed to be trying to grind himself against Wally's butt, except the man's big belly was in the way. He looked at me and said, "Special for you, I'll only take one-fourth of the sale price, 25-percent!"

I did what I often do in times of doubt – I phoned Reverend Flick. He was a calm and wise voice. He told me "the sodomites cannot infect a decent Christian man, so you have nothing to fear." Then he went on to say that since acts performed on male slaves did not constitute the sin of homosexuality, he thought it would be OK for me to take Wally to the slave hall in Gaytown. He also reminded me that he would expect a special tithe to the church from the profits I made on selling my son into slavery.

Capitol City was 100 miles [160 km] away. Their slave hall opened at noon on Saturdays and it was just 9:30. I could bring Wally there directly. McGee had his fingers toying between Wally's white bottom cheeks. He looked at me coyly and said, "I'll give you $200 in cash for a half hour alone with this boy in my van." Wally was looking down at the floor and whimpering. McGee smacked his bottom and said, "C'mon boy, somebody's gonna be first up your butthole. And I'm a connoisseur of newly enslaved free boys."

My patience was running thin with Wally and I said, "Oh stop the dramatics, you little homo. I know it's what you want." Then I looked at my watch and added, "Unfortunately, we're cutting our traveling time a little close, so I miss out on the $200, Mr. McGee, and you miss out on deflowering my son." Sheriff Taylor also missed out on giving Wally the punishment he deserved. But getting Wally sold was the priority.

McGee took it all in stride. He asked if I had any slave shorts for the boy. When I said I didn't he smirked and said, "Put the kid in his own pair of tighty whities. Don't tell them the boy is a homo. Straight teen in his free boy underpants – those queers will be throwing money at you."

Chapter 2

You better believe I was not looking forward to my first visit to Gaytown. I had never been in the presence of homos – at least not that I knew of – and being surrounded by a whole community of them was not an appealing thought to me. But if this was the place for me to get a good price (and to find a good owner) for my newly enslaved queer son, so be it. A dad has to do what a dad has to do.

I knew enough to bring Wally in through the back entrance of the slave hall. He was collared, had handcuffs attached to the collar on the back, and had an 18-inch [½ m] chain attaching the shackles on his ankles. Sheriff Taylor had used a temporary tattoo to place Wally's slave identification number toward the top of his right pectoral and he had even placed a global positioning chip behind Wally's left ear. I had also, at the suggestion of McGee, dressed the boy in a pair of the boy's own clean white briefs in place of the standard slave shorts. We got looks from a lot of the men as I led Wally in by a leash attached to his collar. I wasn't sure if the looks were because he wasn't properly groomed as a slave or for some other reason.

Just inside the door I was approached by the queerest queer boy I ever did see. He was nearly my height, but thin as a rail. He held a clipboard up against his torso with both hands. Instead of standing up straight he was sort of leaning back a little, as if he was posing for some girly fashion magazine. His hair was bleached white with a blue streak in it and I swear he was wearing eyeliner. From a distance he looked like a boy but when he was near he looked closer to 30. I looked for signs that he was a slave, but he was not collared and he was fully dressed in tight white slacks and a shirt that was opened almost all the way down the front showing his hairless chest.

I had to fight the urge to talk to this boy about Jesus and try to save him. That wasn't why I was here. And if I looked around the slave hall there were just too many who needed saving. The effete young man lisped at me, "My, my, what have we here? And you're new to peddling slaves in Gaytown, aren't you, sir? I would've remembered a big hunky master like you." He actually giggled like a schoolgirl.

Bracing myself not to show my revulsion, I quietly said, "I'm just here this one time to find a buyer for my son."

I swear to you this flitty homo mumbled under his breath, "Fuckin' hot." He looked up and down Wally and then asked, "This boy is a slave?" I handed him Wally's enslavement papers. He glanced from the papers to the boy and then grinned, "And he's just turned fourteen so he's legal?" His hand started toying with Wally's balls through the cotton fabric of the briefs as he continued, "And just yesterday this was free boy tackle."

Impatient I pulled Wally by the leash, inadvertently choking my son for a moment. I glared at the skinny fellow and said, "I'd just like to get this boy prepared for sale and get this whole thing over with. If you are not able to assist me, please direct me to someone who can."

He became businesslike and pointed to different stations and services around the hall. Most important was the slave preparation area. He told me there was no charge if I wanted to use the facilities to shave and scrub and give an enema to my boy. I shuddered and quickly blurted, "I ain't giving this boy an enema!"

"Well, sir," he became huffy. "This is not a discount slave traders dealing in broken down mine stock. Our clientele expects that any slaves out on our floor will be totally cleaned outside and inside. If you prefer we offer a full range of slave services." He went on to rattle off prices for any and every service you could imagine – not just bathing the slave, shaving his body, giving a proper slave haircut and giving him an enema, but even clipping his toenails or oiling his skin. Of course the prices were outrageous, but what choice did I have?

The young man minced over to the preparation area and filled out a card for Wally to have a cleaning, a thorough body shaving, and an enema. I had a little argument about price when I saw that some big hairy muscled slave in his 30s was getting shaved. How dare they charge me the same to body shave Wally's virtually bald underarms and pubes. I even pulled apart Wally's butt cheeks and, as I suspected, found not one hair there. The attendant, snippier than ever, said, "Well, sir, if you'd prefer to shave the boy yourself then there'd be no charge to you at all." I swear, if it hadn't been that I felt kinda squeamish about touching the body of my homosexual son, I would've taken him up on that. As it was I put the charges on my credit card.

The effete young man became solicitous again, thanked me for my business, wished me well in getting a good price for my son, but then under his breath and cheekiest of all he said, "I just wish I'd been there to see you take your son's cherry, dad."

I looked up at him furious and said, "I'll have you know that I'ma good church-going Christian man. I am not a deviant homo like you and your lot!" I realized I had said that in a loud voice and men all around were now looking at me. Would they toss me out on my ear?

The young man stood at his full height and pursed his lips as he asked, "Then why did you enslave your boy and bring him here, sir?"

I pulled myself up to my full height, a few inches taller than him, and said, "My son happens to be a homo. I love my son and want him to be where he belongs – serving some homo master."

Suddenly then he flitty young attendant got a serious look on his face and said, "I'm sorry I was out of line, sir. You're a good father." Then he turned on his heels and left.

I watched as the slaves worked on Wally's slim young body. A slave boy who looked barely older than Wally did the shaving. As I watched I thought this might be a good job for Wally. Even though I hadn't seen any hair in Wally's ass crack or on his balls, the slave was thorough – he spread my boy's cheeks and ran the razor neatly up the curve on each side.

Then Wally was handed over to an older slave, a solidly built man, who bent him over and started greasing his bottom before shoving an enema nozzle up into my boy. As his butt was being filled, this older slave was whispering something into Wally's ear. I don't know what it was, but there were tears coming down Wally's face. Well, I figured it's highly stressful being enslaved, but I couldn't trouble myself with chatter between slaves. I was surprised that the older slave went on to give Wally three more enemas before he was through with the boy. Then Wally was showered with two slave boys soaping him up, washing him off, and then wiping the water off his body because there didn't seem to be any towels for the slaves. I was asked one last time by the slave in charge if I wanted a proper slave haircut for the boy and, following McGee's advice, I refused. The slave nodded and said, "Good choice, sir. He'll appeal to the men who have a fetish for free boys."

A slave directed me to a platform where Wally would be displayed. I could tell it was not a prime location. I was off toward the back along the side, not a high traffic area. I knew enough about retail to figure that the best spots were given to the regular dealers. Wally had on his slave collar and the white briefs, but his hands were no longer cuffed. I simply had him hold his hands behind his back in slave rest position. His feet were shackled and attached to pegs in the floor.

Another attendant came up to me and began asking a series of questions about Wally, as he wrote things on his clipboard. He examined Wally's enslavement documents more closely. This attendant was just about as effeminate as the first one, but he was all business. He turned on his heels without a word and within five minutes he returned with a neatly typed out sign that listed all of Wally's vital information: height, weight, date of birth, date of enslavement – it even listed the fact that he had not received any formal training and that he was believed to be an anal virgin.

The attendant had hardly left when I heard a screech. I realized it was coming from two men nearby who rushed up to Wally. "Oh, sweetie, this is the one I want." His fingers were quickly pulling at Wally's nipples and then running down the boy's torso, pushing his underpants to his thighs. "Isn't this tight little body just divine?"

I looked over the two men. They both were around 40 and were wearing expensive suits. They might have been executives during the week and they might well have passed for straight men. But together the two of them were mincing like schoolgirls and their voices were way too high pitched. The first who had spoken was blond, but it didn't look like his original hair color. His dark-haired compatriot was just slightly quieter than the blond as he inquired, "Just how old is this little twink anyway?"

The two queers looked over the sign and didn't even acknowledge my presence. "See," the blond squealed, "he's fourteen, he's legal." By now the blond was manipulating my boy's penis and getting it erect. Wally squirmed but did a good job of maintaining his slave rest position.

The dark-haired man was pumping a finger in and out of Wally's ass. "Yes, honey," he offered. "But look at him. He looks kinda young for fourteen. What will the neighbors think?"

"The neighbors will be jealous and beating their dicks raw wishing they were us and they had a young piece like this to play with and fuck. The neighbors are all gay and your boss is a screaming old queen," The blond giggled.

Shaking his head, the dark haired fellow was still squeezing Wally's ass cheeks as he said, "Yes, but you know my boss is head of the league that's fighting for tougher laws against underage sex. He fought when our state lowered the age for full use of slaveboys to fourteen. He's off in Florida right now fighting the change they made in their laws."

Frustration marked the blond's tone as he said, "Yes but this boy isn't underage, is he? He is fourteen as of today."

"On paper he's fourteen," the other man snapped. "But take a look at him? Anyone who sees guys owning a slave boy like this will figure those masters are hot for young kids. With a face like this and his pubes shaved he could more easily pass for thirteen, maybe even twelve. And if he was laying on his tummy with that smooth ass in the air 3;" As he spoke his hands kept moving over Wally's smooth flesh. At the end his voice was shaking a bit and I noticed an obscene tent in his expensive slacks. Then the man shook his head and stormed off.

The blond called after, "Well, even then he'd still be legal in Florida. Whether your bleeding-heart, slave-loving boss likes it or not they're not about to raise the age of consent back up after the boom in their tourist business." Then he followed quickly after his partner. I went over and pulled Wally's underpants back into place.

About two minutes later the blond returned, approached me, and handed me a bidding slip. I opened it and read "$40,000" along with his name and address. He grinned at me and in a conspiratorial tone he said, "I know a sweet piece like this will go for way more than $40,000 but I just wanna piss off my boyfriend by placing a bid on him." He giggled again and without waiting for a word from me he disappeared into the crowd.

The Gaytown slave hall did not work like an auction house. I would simply keep Wally on this platform and it was my choice whether to sell him to anyone who bid on him. Alongside the sign with Wally's vital information there was a small board that listed the current bid. For more than an hour it stayed at $40,000 and I was starting to think I should be satisfied with that amount.

I watched a succession of men come by and look at Wally. Some just glanced and walked on. Many of them got a good feel of him and were especially interested in testing his ass. I could see now why the slave hall insisted on the boy being thoroughly cleaned outside and inside. A few men stopped and asked questions about the boy. I answered as honestly as I could. Some eyes lit up when they realized the boy had been enslaved less than a day earlier. So this was what was meant by men who had a fetish for free boys. It soon became obvious that the vast majority of men were just window shopping – they probably couldn't even afford slaves but enjoyed seeing and touching boys on a Saturday afternoon.

While I saw many men who fit the stereotype of screaming queens, there were those who didn't seem queer at all. A serious looking man spent a good deal of time touching Wally all over. He wore jeans, work boots, and a tight t-shirt and looked like a construction worker. My first thought was that he didn't seem gay. My next thought was that he couldn't possibly afford Wally, but he was spending a lot of time. His hands went down into the boy's underpants, both front and back. Finally he looked at me, nodded his head and asked, "You the father?"

I nodded my head in response and he seemed to be studying the sign of vital information before he continued, "So if you're the dad, how come you haven't taken the boy up the ass yet?"

"I'm not a homo," I stated plainly. Knowing what the follow up question would be I added, "I found out that my son here is a queer boy. I believe selling him in Gaytown as a slave is the best thing for the boy."

He smacked Wally on the butt and ordered, "Bend over, boy." When my son did as commanded, the man pushed the boy's briefs down to his knees and started to work one finger in and out of the boy's tight bottom. He was concentrating on his work and then went to two fingers. The big man smacked Wally's butt again and said, "Stand up." Then he went around to the front of my boy and started to stroke his penis and fondle his balls. "Nice size," the man nodded his head. It fascinated me how this rough-hewn fellow could sound so businesslike while fondling my young son's penis. "Looks especially big on his small frame. But then again with a mouth like this and an ass like this not many men are gonna care about his dick."

Given how shabbily he was dressed, I was about to ask why he was spending so much time abusing my son's body if he was not a serious bidder. But then the man pulled out a card and wrote down a bid. He handed it to me – $75,000. I looked over the name on the card and he explained, "I'm an agent for a string of international resorts. We cater to wealthy older gentlemen, very exclusive and very expensive. We'd probably start your boy off in our Caribbean location. We might even fudge a little and tell the clients he's younger than his true age." That was the first time I saw this large man crack a smile. "In the warmer locations you can get away with things like that." He then shook my hand and left.

A few minutes later two men approached – one was around 30 while the other was white-haired and distinguished looking. The younger was good looking with curly light brown hair and an open face, and he seemed strangely familiar. He was looking from me to Wally and I saw Wally's eyes go wide. I saw a smile on this man's face as he approached me and shook my hand. I stared at him blankly and he said, "You don't remember me?" He went on, "I'm Ryan Phillips. I was the swimming coach a few years ago."

Coach Phillips? He had left the elementary school suddenly during Wally's last year there. I never knew why and I hadn't heard anything of him since then. I started putting the pieces together. Coach Phillips together with this older man here in Gaytown. I didn't want to know the details of why he had left our town, but I had already figured out what was behind it.

The coach looked me up and down and said, "Fancy seeing you here?"

I immediately got his implication and blurted out, "I'm not a homo. I'm here for Wally's sake. Wally is as queer as a three-dollar bill and this is where a boy like that belongs."

Phillips turned to Wally and I swear I saw him licking his lips. "My favorite swimmer, my pretty little Wally, hot damn." His hand immediately went to the front of Wally's briefs. He pulled them down and fondled Wally's penis and balls as he continued, "Just as hairless as it was last time I saw it. Only last time I wasn't allowed to play with it, was I?"

The white-haired gentlemen came up to me and shook my hand. "Nigel Winterly," he said dryly. Then he turned to watch the coach fondling my son. The two men smiled at each other. Then Nigel continued, "Ryan is such a dear boy. I can't deny the lad anything."

Ryan Phillips had gotten behind Wally and was fondling and probably fingering his butt as he licked my boy's ear. The boy's briefs had once again slid to his knees. That's when Wally cried out, "Please, coach, don't. I'm not queer. Please help me. Don't let my dad do this to me." He was loud enough that there were men all around who turned in our direction. Many of them started to come near to watch the scene play out.

My son's former swim coach smacked the boy's bottom so fast and hard the sound reverberated in the room. Then the man looked at me and snapped, "Well, the sign is certainly true. He certainly isn't trained, is he?" I shrugged my shoulders and the man continued, "I expect you will give me permission to paddle the slave for that outburst." Tears were already streaming down Wally's face.

An instant later a slave had brought a choice of paddles to Ryan, who weighed them and opted for a leather paddle rather than a wooden one. He nodded kindly and said, "I'll go light on the boy as he's new to this." Wally was bent over and suffered eight hard strokes with the leather paddle. The man administering the punishment made no attempt to hide the tent or the stain on the front of his own tan trousers.

The former coach was blatantly touching his penis in his pants as he looked at me and said, "For the indignity the boy caused me, I'd like to have him masturbate me. It's standard here at the slave hall. Unlike using his mouth or his ass it doesn't take anything away from his future buyer."

I was unprepared for the request but I simply nodded my head. As I had no interest in seeing the man's penis being stroked in public, I moved to the side. I realized there was quite a crowd gathered around us. I could tell Coach Phillips' pants were opened and I could see my son's arm moving in quick rhythmic strokes.

The man leaned his head next to Wally's and was talking into the boy's ear – but not whispering, talking loud enough for the men surrounding us to hear. "I used to watch you in your Speedos, boy. Fuckin' cutest boy ass I ever did see. I used to jerk off thinking about you, Wally, thinking about what I'd do if I had you naked 3;" There was a gasp and then he shouted out, "Catch it in your left hand, boy. Don't let any of it spill." Then I heard a grunt and the men who were watching the scene cheered. When I turned back I saw that Wally was looking down at his hand that was filled with gooey ejaculate.

"I know you're new to being a slave, boy, but you should at least know what to do with sperm. Eat it, Wally," the man said with an evil smirk. The men watching began to encourage, "Go on, boy, lick it off your hand," while a group of college guys started chanting, "Eat it. Eat it." Phillips took hold of Wally's dripping hand and brought it to the boy's mouth. In a commanding voice he snarled, "Stick out your tongue, Wally." I watched the horrified look on my son's face as his tongue touched the glop in his palm. You would have thought the lad was being poisoned. But he obediently licked his palm clean even as tears flowed freely down his face.

The man who had so recently ejaculated now ran to his older companion like an eager puppy and the two whispered. Nigel then handed me a card with a bid on it – the price for Wally was now up to $85,000, this was more than I earned in two years time.

As I watched Ryan and Nigel walk away I felt a dislike for my son's former swimming coach. But I also thought it might be a nice home for my newly enslaved boy – being a servant to a man he had looked up to just a few years earlier. I considered the bid and wondered if I should just take it on the spot.

The crowd of men who had watched the proceedings as if it were a stage show moved away. Then I became aware of one gentleman who had not moved away with the rest. He was different from anyone else I had interacted with since arriving in Gaytown – a tall, dignified man with salt and pepper hair and a trimmed beard, he had a commanding presence, was wearing a white suit and a pair of cowboy boots that must have cost more than a few month's of my salary. He seemed every inch a man's man.

The distinguished gent nodded to me and told me to call him Major. He said his friends just called him Major and that he hoped he and I would be friends. He then proceeded to take a silver case from his inside jacket pocket. I watched as he pulled out a flask and two silver cups. He handed me one cup and poured from the flask. Then he filled his own cup, tapped it to mine and said, "My daddy never believed in talking business with a dry mouth, sir." I then drank down the smoothest whiskey I've ever tasted. He grinned at me and said, "Twenty-year-old whiskey, sir. A mite older than the lad over there." I had to laugh along with him. It was the first time that entire day that I felt at ease.

He started asking me questions but didn't seem immediately interested in Wally. He was asking about our town, abut my job, about my family and even about my church. It turns out he was raised Assembly of God and he commented quietly about having given more than half the money for his local church to build a new building. He was the sort of gentleman who didn't boast loudly about what he did, but took a quiet pride.

When he finally nodded toward Wally he said, "The boy there reminds me mightily of my favorite grandson, sir. But I must tell you my grandson is not yet legal age in this state, unlike this slave boy. Men in my family are always big at whatever age you may find us."

I must have sounded apologetic as I said, "Well, my dear departed wife, may the Lord hold her to his bosom, was a small-boned woman, her daddy was not very tall."

The Major stood up and walked around Wally, but he did not touch the boy. He looked at me and said, "You say the boy is a homo. But I heard the boy protesting that he is not. Do you mind, sir?" He stood in front of Wally and said, "Slave, I give you permission to speak. Are you in fact homosexual?"

Wally's eyes moved to me. I knew the boy did not want to get punished again. I softly said, "Go on, boy. Answer the man."

Swallowing hard, the naked slave shook his head and said, "Sir, no sir. I took a celibacy pledge at our church and I never had sex with anyone."

"That's not what I asked, boy," the Major said firmly but softly. "You can still be a homo even if you haven't had sex yet. It's a matter of what you think about when you masturbate, slave boy. Do you have homo desires?"

"Sir, no sir!" Wally said clearly.

The Major remained looking deep into my boy's eyes for a long moment. Then he turned back to me and asked me to tell him the story of what made me believe my son was queer. I told him the entire story of finding the pictures. How some of the pictures even showed boys being dominated by older men and how some of the snapshots had obviously been taken of his teammates from the swim team. I then told the man about Wally springing a full erection when he was stripped naked for enslavement.

The Major nodded his head sagely and said, "Yes, I see how it is." Then after a silence he continued, "Of course lying is a serious offense for a slave. But in this case I believe it's a matter of denial. The boy simply can't admit the truth down to his very core."

The major then took his card from his pocket and wrote something on it. He handed it to me. He had bid $90,000 to buy Wally. I met his eyes and said, "I didn't realize you'd be interested in purchasing my son, sir. I mean, you're not queer like the rest of them here."

He laughed and said, "Not queer? Well, maybe a bit different from many of the others, but I do enjoy a nice young bit of slave boy tail on occasion." He continued, "I follow my church's admonition that sex with a male slave does not constitute the sin of homosexuality. I'll admit to you that I'm attracted to male flesh, especially something as lovely and firm as your boy there, but I limit my contacts to slaves.

"Let me add, sir, that I have many dear friends here in Gaytown and in other places where I have homes who are homo to the core. They have sex with each other. They have sex with all sorts of free men. I am fond of many of these friends and I pray for them, sir. But for me, I will assure a place for myself in heaven – and for my slaves as well – by spilling my seed only into the bodies of enslaved lads like this one.

"Tonight, I'm having a few friends over to celebrate my sixtieth birthday. I came here looking for a boy to be the main attraction at my party. Your son and I have the same birthday. It seems predestined that I buy this boy."

I heartily agreed. I told him excitedly about all the things that had seemed predestined over the previous 24 hours: the fact I found those pictures one day before Wally turned fourteen, the fact that there was a slave hall in Gaytown on the day of Wally's fourteenth birthday, and now the amazing fact that the Major was looking for just such a slave boy and that he shared a birthday with my son. I offered my hand to shake on the deal, but the Major pulled back and said, "No, no, sir. This is a business arrangement and you'll just have to see whether I give you the highest bid."

As if on cue, just as the Major walked away Ryan Phillips and Nigel strolled by and raised their bid to $95,000. Not five minutes later the rugged man representing the resorts came by, chatted me up for a few minutes and raised his bid to $100,0000. I watched for the Major, hoping he would return.

A half hour passed. When Ryan and Nigel came by next the older man refused to go higher than $100,000 for Wally. Ryan acted like a petulant child. While Nigel held firm about the price, saying he had a strict policy never to go above $100,000 for any slave, he was clearly trying to humor his younger compatriot. "We have that party tonight, dear boy. You know it's always a fun time. And tomorrow I'll take you away to the lake and we can talk about visiting that new place they're opening in the South Pacific." Then the two of them disappeared into the crowd.

I had just resolved that the next time I saw the big man from the resort chain, I would accept his $100,000 offer. But when I turned around there was the Major. I smiled at him with a sense of relief. I'd been thinking of everything he said about his relationship with his church and with the Lord. I believed that a slave could enter heaven by cleaving to his master. And I believed strongly that the Major was the master who could get my boy into heaven.

The Major looked at the bid and crossed his arms over his chest. Then he smiled at me and said, "I'll raise the bid to $120,000 on two conditions, sir." He could see the eagerness in my face and he continued, "First, I would like that bag of the boy's clothes you mentioned you have in your car. And then I insist that you be my guest at my birthday celebration tonight."

When I finally got my mouth to work all I could say was "$120,000?" This was more money than was currently in my retirement account, and I blurted that out to the Major without thinking. This was an amount of money that could change my life. But, I reminded myself, the important thing was that Wally would have a good Christian owner. Then I paused and asked, "Your birthday party, Major?"

"There were just going to be eight of us at the gathering. You would make nine. Well, not counting the slave boy of course."

"B-but," I stammered dumbly. "Your friends? Would they be 3; um, homos? W-would there be anything happening at this party that would be 3;" I couldn't finish the thought.

The Major was solicitous when he said, "Yes, my friend, the other men are all avowed homosexuals. But as for anything happening at the party – well I suppose you're asking if there would be anything happening at this party that you, as a good Christian man, would not want to witness?" He took a deep breath and continued, "I can assure you that if anything of a sexual nature happened, it would involve the slave boy. And, as we have already established, our churches agree that sex with a male slave does not constitute the sin of homosexuality. I have great respect for your piety, sir. But I'm sure you have been at parties at which good Christian men have made use of slave boys for their release? Am I telling the truth?"

I could feel my face flushing as I remembered the retirement party at work for old Mr. Grint. There was a Latino slave boy serving dinner, perhaps just a few years older than Wally. I was one of many men who ended up using the boy's expert mouth while Grint himself rode the slave boy's butt. I was amazed that the old fellow could go at it so long and hard. Though the slave boy, as I remember, had seemed quite bored with the whole thing.

The Major could tell from my face that I had indeed experienced oral pleasure from a slave boy at a party. He slapped me on the back and said, "My guests were looking forward to meeting a new slave boy tonight. Having the boy's father there to help us celebrate the lad's first day in service will make it an evening to remember."

Just then the powerfully built man from the resort came by and saw me with the Major. Clearly the two men knew each other. When the resort representative found out the price being paid for Wally, he shook the Major's hand and said, "Enjoy the boy. Knowing you Major, I have faith that you will."

There was a look of desperation in Wally's eyes as the Major gave instructions to have the boy delivered to his home. But I smiled at my son and said, "This isn't goodbye quite yet, Wally. I'll be seeing you tonight. It will be a combination birthday party and launch to your life as a slave." The Major laughed along with me.

The slave hall was very professional at handling all the paperwork. Of course they took 5-percent off the top of the sale, so I lost the first $6,000 from the $120,000. The Major gave me directions to his home and invited me to head back there with him if I wanted to get freshened up. It had been a hectic day and I welcomed that chance.

The Major's home was the grandest I've seen. Nobody in our town has the sort of money to live like the Major. I'm not sure there's anyone in our county seat who could live like the Major. He directed me to a small bedroom next to his and told me to feel free to shower or nap. But before I could get into the shower, he had brought in a full bottle of his 25-year-old whiskey. He and I toasted to his birthday and then he left the bottle "just in case you'd like to wet your whistle a bit more."

By the time I headed downstairs sometime later my whistle had been wet quite a bit.

Chapter 3
The Major's Birthday Party

But most of the other guests seemed like decent fellows. As I watched them I started to consider that most of them could easily hide their swishy mannerisms during the work week, but as they relaxed among friends and continued to drink they became increasingly swishy and open in their gay ways. Strangely enough, I found myself relaxing and laughing along with the other fellows there.

The last two guests we'd been waiting for finally arrived and I was stunned to see that it was Ryan and Nigel. Ryan was my son's former swimming coach who had made a bid to buy Wally. While Nigel was even older than our 60-year-old birthday boy, Ryan was the only man there younger than me. He greeted me with astonishment, saying, "Well for a straight man you certainly show up at the gayest places?"

The Major intervened and said, "This gentleman is here as my special guest because of a business deal I closed with him this afternoon." He then led all of his guests into a grand dining room. There, in the middle of a big round table, was Wally, still wearing just the pair of white briefs. He was standing up. His arms were behind him and tied to a stake and his feet were together and tied to the same stake. He was on a small platform that was revolving very slowly in the center of the table.

I froze at the door at the sight in front of me. Yes, I had been to events at which there had been a slave boy used for sex. But, never one where the boy had been trussed up and displayed as the centerpiece of the dinner table. And through the fog of the alcohol it dawned on me as well that this slave boy being offered up tonight was the son I had raised for the previous fourteen years.

The men all approached the table and commented about how beautiful Wally was. One called out, "How old is this kid, Major?" There was laughter in the room as another said, "Yeh, I don't want us to be raided by those age-of-consent do-gooders."

The Major joined in the merriment and said, "Don't worry, gentlemen. I have documentation that the boy turned fourteen today. Besides you can ask his father."

All the men turned to me. I heard murmurs of, "The boy's father?" "Is he for real?" "That's so fucking hot." The Major then introduced me around and told everyone, "Just call him Dad. For tonight he's just Dad."

A white-haired man chuckled, "Got anymore like this one at home, dad?" I felt flustered and was about to say that Wally did have a brother two years younger who was not yet legal for enslavement in our state. But I just kept quiet and gave a slight chuckle.

Dinner was served by two young slave boys – one was redheaded with freckles and the other had golden skin and looked perhaps Hawaiian. Each boy wore something that looked like a jockstrap that just supported the tackle and had a rope going up the crack of the ass to a waistband. Neither boy was taller than my son and both looked quite young.

The Major leaned toward me and said, "I assure any slave boy used for sex here in Capitol City is at least fourteen. I do like the young smooth look, but a man in my position must be careful to follow the law in each jurisdiction."

Warren bellowed from the other side of the table, "But in your Florida estate 3;" The person next to him jabbed Warren in the side but the fat man huffed, "All I'm saying is that they've changed the law in Florida so they've lowered the age of 3;" That's when someone jabbed a breadstick in Warren's mouth and everyone laughed.

As the dinner progressed, guests were reaching up and fondling Wally's nearly nude body. This was usually accompanied by some comment, sometimes a nice compliment and sometimes a vulgar remark. Soon Wally's underpants were tangled in his thighs, then around his knees, and then fallen around his feet. At one point Ryan seemed to be looking straight at me as he said, "Now that's what I call a fuckable ass." When the men's handling had caused Wally's penis to go fully stiff, one man whistled and looked at me saying, "Impressive meat for a kid this age. Does he take after his father?"

The fact that I took all this in relatively good cheer had a lot to do with the amount of fine whiskey I had consumed by that time of the evening. I had started drinking with the Major well before his party began. I felt mellow and ready to curl up for a nap, but the rest of the guests were energized and looking forward to fun.

When I looked up I realized that the rotating platform in the middle of the table had stopped. Now Wally, bound as he was, stood still, while Warren enthusiastically stroked the boy's erect penis. Another guest stood next to Warren, holding a bowl right under my boy's cock head. Ryan, on the other side of the table, called out, "I know how to increase the volume of the kid's load." Then he wet his finger in his mouth and shoved it unceremoniously into the boy's backside. Wally howled and tensed up and then I saw a spurt of semen shoot from the head of his penis. The man with the bowl maneuvered it expertly to catch my son's semen. Spurt after spurt landed in the bowl.

The serving slaves brought our desserts around the table. Warren followed the slaves around the table and put a dollop of Wally's cum on top of each serving of the flaming cherry dish. I put my hands over my bowl, nearly burning my fingers, and shook my head in the negative. Warren smiled slyly and said, "You don't know what you're missing dad. And it's freshly pumped from your own teenage son."

The Major waved his hand at his friend and said, "Leave him be. It just means more for the rest of us." Indeed, Warren put three heaping spoonfuls of the sperm on our host's flaming cherries and then the fat man licked out the bowl and grinned at the assembled crowd.

When we retired into the parlor with brandy, the Major motioned for his two serving lads to untie Wally and bring the boy in for our entertainment. He added, "And be sure to bring that bag full of clothes as well."

Wally was brought into the room and stood at slave rest position, with his hands clasped behind his back, his head bowed, and his feet 18 inches [45 cm] apart. The men continued to speak, mostly directing questions to me about my son. I told them he had won some medals at the state swimming competition and they nodded to each other saying things like, "No wonder he has those firm thigh muscles." This was Ryan's opportunity to remind the gathered men that he had once been the boy's swimming coach. I also told them about Wally delivering a speech at his middle school graduation just the previous week.

When the subject of Wally's younger brother came up, I expressed concern that Will was away and did not yet know his brother had been enslaved. The men asked to see a picture of Will and I passed around a picture from my wallet that showed both boys on a rafting trip we had taken over spring break – I thought the boys looked comical in their tank tops and shorts that were plastered to their soaking wet bodies. One man remarked, "Given that the fourteen-year-old looks about twelve, I'm curious what the eleven-year-old is gonna look like." When the picture made its way to Ryan, his eyes seemed to glaze over and he said, "Holy cow, the younger kid looks just like Wally did at that age." He handed the picture to the Major, who smiled softly and looked at it for quite a long time. "It would be lovely to have two brothers so nicely matched."

I took the picture back from the Major brusquely and said, "Well, that's surely never going to happen. Will is all I have left now. Besides, Major, he's three years younger than Wally so it's not legal to use the lad for sex even if he was enslaved."

"Yes, yes," the Major nodded. "And as I said a man in my position has to be careful to uphold the law of each jurisdiction. But, just having a boy like that around, so young and fresh and cute, just to look at – well, let's just say a boy like that, especially as young as he is, has charms that can reinvigorate an old man like me."

Warren piped up, "Besides, on the Florida estate it's legal to 3;" Someone else nudged him and said, "Warren, put on some music." Warren turned to a wall of digital equipment and soon soft music was piped through the room.

The Major stood up slowly and put an arm around my newly enslaved son Wally. He grinned at his party guests and said, "Let's turn our attention to my extra special birthday present, the birthday present I bought for myself." Everyone laughed. "Now, Wally's dad has told all of us that he enslaved the boy because the lad was queer. But Wally tells me he's a straight boy. Answer me, slave boy, are you gay?"

"Sir, no sir," my naked son said quietly.

The big man was caressing the boy's face and neck and shoulders as he continued, "Tell me, Wally, have you ever jerked off thinking about guys' dicks or asses?"

"Sir, no sir," my son intoned once more, still looking at the floor.

The Major's big hands were moving everywhere on the slim blond teen. "Wally, have you ever jerked off thinking about taking a man's thick stiff prick in your mouth and sucking it? Have you ever gotten a boner thinking about licking a man's dick juice out of his cock head, boy?"

"Sir, no sir," Wally gasped. I looked at my boy and saw that he was trembling now. I also saw that his penis was shriveled up quite small. How odd that Wally was as far from an erection as could be, but my penis was fully stiff in my pants and beginning to leak. I'm certain my arousal had something to do with the sensuality of the Major's voice.

The Major grabbed Wally's face in his hands and looked right into the boy's eyes as he asked, "Have you ever kissed a boy or a man? Have you ever felt all warm and aroused imagining how it would feel to kiss a boy or a man?"

Wally's voice cracked as he called out, "Sir, no sir." Then the man pulled the boy's face to his and kissed him hard on the lips. Even from across the room I could see that the Major's mouth was open and that his tongue was playing with Wally's lips and mouth. I wondered what the Major's beard felt like against my son's smooth face.

He pulled Wally's face from his and enunciated slowly, "Back when you were a free boy, Wally, did you ever get hard thinking about a man's thick hairy cock being pushed into your ass and fucking you?"

Wally fell in a heap on the floor weeping and calling out, "Sir, no sir. Please, sir, don't do that to me, sir. I'm not a queer boy, sir."

I was scared the Major would respond by punishing his new slave, but instead he caressed Wally's face and eased the boy up to his knees. He even pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to wipe Wally's face. Wally was looking up at his master now. But when I glanced over I could see a huge tent in the front of the big man's trousers. He was still caressing the boy's face as he whispered, "But you're a slave boy, now, right?"

"Y-yes, master," the boy whispered back intimately.

"Your master bought you for sex, Wally, because you're such a beautiful boy. And now that you're a slave you're here to serve your master and do as you're told. Right, slave boy?"

Wally swallowed hard and said, "Y-yes, master."

The man tenderly guided the boy's face to look toward the front of his pants. Wally's eyes went wide and there was a choked sob in the back of his throat. In a quiet, flat tone the Major said, "Take it out my pretty little slave boy."

Wally's hands were trembling as he unzipped his master's pants. He reached in and fumbled with the man's penis. I wanted to look away. I have no interest seeing another man's erect penis. But there was something hypnotic about the scene. I couldn't turn away. I gasped a little when I saw the girth of the Major's semi-erect organ. Wally drew back a little bit. But the Major's tender hand caressed his young face and drew the boy nearer to his stiffening cock.

"Your tongue, slave boy."

Tears were streaming down Wally's face as his tongue came from between his lips and touched the tip of the Major's erect cock. I watched as my son's new master pressed his cock head down into the boy's tongue, spreading his precum onto the teenage tastebuds.

"Open your lips, slave boy." The man did not jab his penis roughly into the boy's throat. Instead he just toyed with the head of his penis on the tip of my son's tongue. He cooed, "I know you're a straight boy, Wally. I know you still think like a free boy. But those are all the reasons my big hairy cock is so stiff."

The room was thick with erotic tension. When I took my eyes away from the master and slave, I became aware that all the other men in the room were displaying erections in their pants. Some were rubbing and some were trying to be discreet, but every man was affected by what they had just seen and heard. The only penis in the room that was not erect was Wally's. This seemed odd to me. Wasn't I giving my queer son what he wanted? The Major had spoken to me earlier when we had been drinking together and he said that the fantasy of being a straight boy was probably very erotic for Wally. He said that a lot of young gays had that fantasy and that I should play along with it. So why didn't Wally have a boner?

The Major broke the trance of the moment and had Wally stand up. Warren had chosen some clothes from the duffel bag I had brought and he now placed the clothes on a table beside the naked slave boy. Wally looked up at his master, not understanding what was expected of him. The Major grinned and said, "We're going to play a little game, boy. You know you're a slave and I know you're a slave and everyone in this room knows you're a slave. We all know you have to do as you're commanded. But we're going to play a little game and pretend that you're here tonight as a free boy, Wally."

There were chuckles throughout the room as Wally slowly began to get dressed. He pulled up a pair of the same brand of white briefs he had worn each day of his free boy life. Then he put on a white undershirt, a pair of chinos, and a striped dress shirt that Warren had selected from the duffel bag. Finally he pulled on a pair of socks and stepped into his penny loafers.

The Major went around behind Wally and used a tiny key to remove the boy's slave collar. Wally touched his neck. The Major whispered to the boy loud enough for all of us to hear, "You have your slave chip behind your ear, boy. You have your slave number tattooed on your chest. You're a slave through and through. But just 27 hours ago you were a free boy who never imagined that you'd have to take some old man's stiff penis into your mouth.

"Let's pretend your dad brought you here for a party. Let's pretend it's two nights ago, back when you were free, back before your father even had any notion of enslaving you. So here you are as a guest, Wally. Welcome to my party."

The men were all sitting on three sofas that were set in a U-pattern. I was sitting in a big comfy chair that was set back a little from the sofas. Wally looked around at the group like a deer in the headlights, not knowing how he was expected to act, not knowing what response might get him punished as a slave.

A tall good-looking fellow named Brian patted the sofa beside him, smiled up at my son and invited him to sit. This man had been an actor on a TV western back when he was younger and had still kept a lot of his rugged looks even though he was in his 60s. Wally moved slowly and sat between Brian and a quiet smaller man named Mel, who was a banker. Brian took the lead and started asking Wally about the swim team at school. As the Major had wanted, it was a casual conversation that any older man would have with a free boy at a party. Wally began to open up and answer the man's questions.

Then Brian started squeezing one of Wally's legs. He grinned at the boy and said, "I'll bet all that swimming has given you really nice thighs, son."

Wally froze for an instant and then turned to the Major. He asked, "Please, sir, how should I act? D-do you want me to go along with what he wants or c-could I tell him to stop touching my leg, sir?"

The Major seemed to be considering the question and then mulled over, "Well, if you cooperate fully with men wanting to sex you up, boy, that wouldn't make you a very believable free straight boy." Then the man turned to me and said, "Dad, was Wally a good obedient son?"

"Always."

I was handed another drink by the Major and I downed it as he said, "In that case, dad, since you and your 'free' son are guests here, you just keep telling your boy to be cooperative and to let the men do what they want." I couldn't help but chuckle. There was something absurd about playing out this scene. But, after all, it was the man's birthday and he had paid a huge amount to buy my son as his new slave.

Brian, the retired actor, took up the scene and started squeezing my son's thigh once more. "Call me Brian, young fellow." The banker on the other side of Wally touched the boy's other leg and said, "Call me Mel." Then Brian smiled at Wally and said, "Show us your thighs, kid. Just slip your pants down so we can see what kind of muscles your swimming has given you."

Wally, a little nervously, pulled away from Brian and pushed the other man's hand away as he said, "Please don't touch me there. I'm not gonna take down my pants here in front of all these men."

The Major turned and pointed to me as if telling me this was my cue. I cleared my throat and said, "Son, you're a guest here. Take down your pants for the nice men."

All eyes were on Wally's lap as he fumbled with his zipper and then peeled his pants down just as far as his knees. The two men started feeling the boy's bare thighs, squeezing his flesh and moving their hands up and down, making comments about the smoothness of his skin or the firmness of his muscles. The tail of the boy's dress shirt was hiding most of his white briefs. The Major called out, "It's getting warm here, don't you think, Wally? Take off that dress shirt of yours, son."

"D-do I have to?" the boy asked, looking at me.

I almost started laughing as I said, "Our host has been so gracious, boy. Take off your shirt when he asks you to."

Mel decided to help Wally unbutton the shirt and then he pulled it off the boy's arms. I adlibbed, "Son, don't you think you should thank the nice man for his help taking off your shirt?"

There were some soft chuckles in the room but Wally quietly said, "Thank you, Mel." The boy was just covered by his white briefs and his white t-shirt, with his chinos slipped below his knees.

That's when Nigel, distinguished as he was, got down on the floor in front of Wally and started pulling off each of the boy's penny loafers. He could barely contain his glee as he said, "I'm always interested in the feet of lads who swim a good deal. I'm curious whether your skin has gotten all shriveled and pruney on your feet."

Some joker called out, "You're the expert on pruney and shriveled skin here, Nigel," but the white-haired man ignored the comment as he brought my son's bare foot to his lips. He was moaning as he sucked on Wally's big toe.

The other men were off the sofas and moving closer to my son. Some of them were rubbing the bulges in their pants, while others had pulled their cocks out of their flies and were rubbing them right out in front of the group.

Warren leaned over the back of the sofa and reached his hands down the front of Wally's chest. He was rubbing Wally's nipples through the fabric of the boy's t-shirt. He started to chatter away, "Y'know I've been playing with my nipples since I've been jerking off. So of course my nipples are big tough things now that stick out stiff even when I'm not aroused. But feel how flat the straight boy's tits are." Then he reached down and pulled up Wally's t-shirt so he could tweak the boy's nipples right on the pink flesh. "Let's see what it takes to get these standing up erect." I realized that with the t-shirt pulled up as it was, Wally's slave identification number was hidden.

Meanwhile Brian's fingers were just inside the leg band of Wally's white briefs. He announced to the crowd, "Our little swimming champ here doesn't have a hair on his balls!" Everyone chuckled along.

"Please don't," Wally grunted, squirming his body. Then he howled in pain and grabbed the wrist of Mel, the short banker that was sitting on his other side. "Please, sir, that hurt."

"Oh, right," Mel said slyly, "free straight boys aren't used to getting a finger in their cracks."

The Major was still on the sidelines as he called out, "No, no, boy. You don't have to call him 'sir.' You're a free boy. At least in this scene now you're a free boy. Let's say you were brought here as a guest by your daddy. You didn't know you'd be surrounded by a bunch of horny queer perverts. You didn't know we'd get your daddy drunk." Everyone laughed and I laughed along.

"Now Wally, how would you react? As a free boy, as a straight teenager, how would you react right now?"

Wally shouted, "Get your fucking queer hands off me!" Then he pushed at the men and tried to get up from the couch. But with his pants tangled around his calves and with the small white-haired man at his feet, Wally stumbled. Hands were all over him and lifted him up off the ground.

In an instant Wally was bent over the side of a table. Someone pulled down the back of my son's briefs, but left them tangled around his thighs. For such a large man, Warren proved to be nimble as he fell to his knees behind the boy and brought his lips to the teenager's crack. The big man pulled Wally's cheeks apart and was making grunting and snorting noises as he ate out my son's hole. On one level I knew I should be repulsed by such a sight, I knew this should be turning my stomach. And yet I couldn't take my eyes away from the scene before me.

Finally the Major moved from his vantage point on the sidelines and joined in. He pulled open the pants of his white suit. He wasn't wearing anything under the pants and now his cock and balls were completely revealed. It was impressive equipment nested in a thick bush of black and white hairs. He was holding his rod as he grinned down at Wally's body being held in place.

The Major was an impressive man, a real man's man. He had paid $120,000 for Wally – more money than I'd ever known in my life. His insistence that I attend his birthday party that night hadn't seemed like much. I even surprised myself by getting along with most of the gay guests at his gathering. When I'd expressed concern as to whether any gay sex might be happening at his party, the Major assured me that the only sex would be "with the slave boy" so it would not be sinful in the eyes of my church. Of course, in this case, the slave boy was my newly enslaved oldest son.

But Wally had been caught up in an odd party game that the Major devised. He made his new slave dress in some of his free boy clothes and act the part of a free boy who was brought to the party by his father. I had played along and even chuckled as I told my 'supposedly free' son to be nice to the men, to let them touch him or take down his pants. The Major had encouraged Wally to react like a free boy and for a moment the boy had tried to fight off the men and get away from them. But now he was bent over a table, his undershirt pulled up under his armpits and his briefs tangled in his thighs.

The Major stood over my son lightly touching his own large penis. "Once you're broken in as a slave, boy, nobody will have to hold you down for me to fuck you," he said philosophically. "But for tonight, when the spirit of a free boy still runs through your body, it'll be a special kind of fun."

"Please, sir," Wally called out breathlessly. "I'm not a slave. My dad made a mistake. You know I'm not a queer boy. You know I don't belong a slave. Tell my dad. Please, sir, don't do this to me."

The Major moaned and said, "You know how to make an old man's cock throb even harder, little fella." The men gathered around as the Major slapped the teen ass and said, "Just yesterday afternoon, gentlemen, this cute little ass was swimming in a small town community pool. Just yesterday he pulled down his swimsuit in that locker room in front of a bunch of his high school buddies and showered with them after their swim. All those other free boys got a look at these delectable cheeks and the hairless crack between them."

Warren had been hungrily and noisily licking out Wally's butthole. At that point, the big man smacked his lips and said, "None of them knew that the very next day this boy's delectable ass would be main course at a banquet in Gaytown." Now there was raucous laughter, including the Major. But I saw that Wally was quietly sobbing as he lay pinned to the table by the group of older men.

Warren had been pushed from his place at my son's butt and now the Major was standing there, gently touching the head of his thick penis around the opening of Wally's anus. The man was using his cock to toy with the boy's ass.

Wally was softly whimpering, "Daddy, don't let them. Daddy you can stop them. Give him back the money, daddy. Don't make me be his slave, daddy." I sat upright. Through the alcohol fog, I took in the scene. For a moment I reacted as any father might. I saw my innocent teenage son being overpowered by a group of men. His clothes had been ripped off and he was pinned across a table with a big penis threatening his bottom. For that split second I was ready to rush over to the table and fight those men to protect my boy.

But then the Major called out to me, "Dad! We need you here, dad!" I shook my head and the fog cleared once more. That very afternoon I had sold my son Wally into slavery and the Major was his owner. Everything I was watching was a game being played for the Major's birthday party. Well, I suppose it wasn't a game to Wally. He was dealing with the very real situation of having been stripped, bent across a table and pinned, and now had the hands of a bunch of homosexuals all over his exposed body and had a thick cock head toying with and threatening his anus.

When I looked up in response to the Major, I tried to adjust the crotch of my pants. I didn't want to come closer to his group of men displaying my obvious erection. But he just smiled and said, "We've all seen that you're hard, man, and none of us blame you. Come as you are. We want to make use of that weapon of yours."

There was a loud holler from Wally as I approached the table. When I was close enough to see there was the Major's thick penis stuck into Wally's bottom hole. From the length still exposed, it was clear that only the very head of his cock was inside the boy. But even with that, I saw that Wally's face was flushed red and he was breathing hard as if he'd just run a race. The Major was rotating his hips to the right and to the left. He remarked that this was a good way to stretch out a fresh boy hole. He then assured me that, whatever else Wally may have done, the boy's ass had never before been invaded. Each time the Major pushed forward a little bit more, Wally grunted and breathed hard. But there were no more shouts as there had been with the initial entry.

I didn't understand whether the Major had called me over to the table just so I could be a close-up eyewitness to my son's deflowering. Was this why he wanted me at his birthday party? When the Major came to rest I saw that the entire root of his large cock was all the way inside my son's rectum. His lush salt and pepper pubes were pressed right up against Wally's hairless round cheeks.

At that point the Major smiled at me and said, "I want you to be the first to feed a load of cum down the boy's throat."

I looked down at my son's beautiful face. His lips barely moved and the sound barely emanated from them as he whispered, "Daddy, no." How could I do what the Major asked me to do? And yet my cock was throbbing in my jockstrap and precum was oozing out of its head as I focused on those soft pink lips.

"Come on, man," the Major said with a mixture of impatience and good cheer. "All my buddies here are jealous of you. I know they'd all like to go first. But given your special relationship and your history with my new slave boy, I insist that you take that honor.

"I know you've put that cock of yours into slave boy mouths before. That doesn't detract from you being a straight man. And since it was sex with slaves that doesn't take anything away from you being a good Christian." The Major chuckled softly and seemed to be adjusting the position of his hips, which moved his cock that was deeply embedded in my son and caused Wally to gasp. "But look at the lips on this boy. I bet you've never had a slave boy suck you who had such a pretty face. Look how soft the lower lip is. Just touch your finger to his lower lip. See how his lips quiver in anticipation when you touch them lightly. Look at the way the boy's upper lip curls up. That's what I call a cocksucker mouth.

"Look at that look in the boy's eyes. He keeps telling you he doesn't want it. He keeps telling you that he's a straight boy. But look in his eyes. How long has this boy been dreaming of a chance to kiss his daddy's big cock? And you know what kind of dreams I'm talking about, dad." There was something hypnotic about the Major's voice. I wanted to pull away and let these men continue their games without me. But then the big man said, "Just take it out of your pants, dad. Take it out and have the boy give it a kiss for you – a kiss you'll both remember for the rest of your lives."

And just like that I found myself opening my belt and unzipping my pants. I let them fall knowing my shirttail covered my exposed ass. Some man remarked, "He wears a jockstrap?" and another said, "Men with big dicks who don't want to go around showing off." But all these sounds were going on in the background. My focus was all on the table in front of me. Wally's chest was pressed against the table. His t-shirt was pulled up revealing his spine and lower back, but was still tangled under his armpits. His butt was at the edge of the table sticking up and the Major was attached deep inside the boy. One man was holding one of Wally's arms down, while another man held his other arm. There had been more men pinning him initially, but now the Major and I were in position to hold him in place.

I pulled down the front of my jockstrap and my thick cock popped out. I was close to 40. I couldn't remember the last time my cock had been so rigid. It stood out on its own. I brought it close to Wally's lips. The boy looked up at me and said, "D-daddy, don't. I'm not a 3;" Whatever he had meant to be the next word in that sentence was lost in a gurgle and a slurp and a gag as I slid my thick cock between his lips. I don't know what possessed me. I had merely intended to put my cock head to his lips for a kiss. But as soon as I made contact, I just wanted to go deep inside that mouth.

Soon my hips were moving back and forth. Someone called out, "Yeh, feed the boy your spunk, daddy!" and I started going at it with more fervor. But Wally was gagging and choking and struggling. I pulled away. When I looked across to the other side of the table, the Major was gently sliding his thick cock in and out of Wally's asshole. "Go on. The boy needs to learn to suck a big one!" the Major barked at me.

Warren turned out to be truly helpful then. He turned Wally's face so the boy's throat was lined up with his mouth and then nodded to me to go for it. Just then a man touched my butt and I jerked away. Warren admonished the crowd, reminding them that I was straight and didn't want any of them touching me. As I was about to thank him he said, "But you could do us all a nice turn and take off your shirt. You're quite a man, dad. We'd all like to get a good show of you feeding dick to your son." I was flattered and even as I started slowly sliding my cock in and out of Wally's mouth, I unbuttoned my shirt, let it fall to the floor, and then peeled off my undershirt. My wife had complained I was too hairy to suit her, and I suppose I was even hairier as I got older. But these men didn't seem to mind as they whistled and gave catcalls. I'm sure they were just having fun – I'm at an age where I'm getting a beer gut and my muscles are not as hard and defined as when I was young.

I looked across to the Major and he and I seemed to be in sych with our movements. He called out, "Time for some longdicking!" This meant that he pulled his cock almost all the way out of the boy's butt and then slid the full length in fast and smooth. Each time the Major slid his cock deep in, Wally grunted and his grunts were massaging my cock head and making me leak copious amounts of goo down the pretty slave boy's throat.

That's when I truly began to fuck my son's mouth. Now I was longdicking him. I looked down at his beautiful features. The same cute nose, the same sweet lips, the same soft blond hair he'd always had. Only now his face was distorted and his lips stretched around my thick erection. Men were calling out obscenely, "Daddy's gonna feed you his sperm, boy." "Daddy's breaking in that mouth, boy, make you an expert cocksucker." "Eat it, Wally. Be a good boy for your dad."

There was no way I could hold back. I cannot describe what my scream of release was like because it was as if it was someone else screaming in some far-off dimension. My cock felt like a cannon and I could not stop for a moment to give any consideration to Wally's mouth that had to deal with the outpouring from my organ. I was brought back to reality by the shouts of the Major who collapsed forward across my son's torso. I could tell from the redness of his face and the way he was gasping for breath that the big man was filling the boy's guts with semen.

When I eased my penis out of Wally's mouth my cream dripped from his lips. The Major reached for the boy's face and pinched his cheek as he said sweetly, "In future, you'd best not spill a drop or you'll be punished. But, after all, this is your birthday, little fella."

I could barely stand up. Warren helped me over to one of the sofas where I fell across it. I didn't fight him as he took off my boots, my pants and my jockstrap. But he didn't make any attempt to molest me. Any other time it would've bothered me to have a bunch of homosexuals see me naked like that, but none of the men were looking at me – their attention was directed to my newly enslaved son.

Chapter 4
The Aftermath

Brian, the retired actor, called out, "I wanna taste his daddy's spunk right off his tongue." Then the rugged man grabbed Wally and gave the boy a sloppy kiss. I could tell even from the distance that Brian's tongue was deep in my son's throat. I blinked at the scene. I had recently seen one of Brian's old movies on the late show, a western, and he had given a steamy kiss to a beautiful Mexican actress. But the kiss he gave my son was much more passionate.

I heard someone else call out, "Let's have the boy judge a kissing contest. C'mon, Wally, you'll pick who kisses best."

That's when I fell asleep. I never saw any of the kissing contest and never found out who was judged the winner. When I opened my eyes I wasn't sure what was a dream and what was reality. There, in front of me, I saw Wally dressed in his new blue suit, with a pressed white shirt, a dark tie, and his black dress shoes. I had bought him that suit to give his graduation speech. He only wore it one other time since then and that was for a special church service the previous weekend. Now, as I drank in the scene, the boy seemed to be standing on a low table and delivering his graduation speech.

Was I dreaming this scene of him delivering his speech? Or perhaps the whole enslavement had been a dream? Maybe I had fallen asleep during the graduation ceremony? But then I became aware that I was sprawled naked on a sofa in a lavish parlor. And I became aware that five of the original partygoers were gathered around the boy, listening to his speech. The men, however, were all in various states of undress. A few were totally naked. The rest had their clothes opened and disheveled. Some sported erections quite openly.

As my son delivered his graduation speech from memory, the men shouted encouragement, but they also touched him sensually. One naked man got on the table behind Wally, reached around and opened the boy's blue suit pants, pulling them down. Wally faltered in the speech, but the man behind him called out, "Keep going, boy. You were doing fine." Two different hands were already reaching inside the front of my son's briefs at the same time, while the man behind him was reaching around and ripping the buttons from his nice white shirt.

A vague thought occurred to me that I should protest the way they were ruining good clothes. But then I realized how silly that was. I was going to give those clothes away anyway and, as far as I was concerned, the clothes were the property of the Major, my son's new owner. I became aware of the Major sitting sprawled out on the sofa directly across from me. The man was naked except for his cowboy boots and was lightly toying with his semi-erect penis as he watched the scene unfold. He smiled at me and said, "That's some boy you've got there."

I just said, "He's your boy now, Major." Then I fell asleep again.

It seemed as if I was asleep for less than a minute when a loud holler woke me. "Fu-u-u-u-uck!" boomed a powerful man's voice. My eyes blinked open and I saw that Mel, the short banker, was fucking Wally in the ass. Two different men were holding Wally's feet in the air and wide apart. The boy was still wearing his dress shoes and black socks, and there were tattered bits of fabric that had once been blue slacks. Mel was naked and had a very toned body for a man in his 40s. And he was obviously in the midst of a powerful orgasm as he spewed forth a string of epithets and filthy blather. Then he was trying to catch his breath but telling the other men who had been watching, "The next time some pretty boy like this, wearing a blue suit like this, comes into my office for a job interview, I want all you guys to be there to rip his clothes and hold him while I fuck his ass." There were some scattered chuckles. I realized that Wally being dressed in the suit and reciting his graduation speech was all part of the game the Major had started – pretending they were having sex with a free boy.

This time when I fell asleep I was sure I would sleep soundly. But I was awoken by a bump and a thud. I wiped my eyes and realized that the sofa I was lying on had been bumped. Not three feet [90 cm] away from me on the adjoining sofa I saw my son sitting on the lap of his former swim coach, Ryan. The look on Ryan's face made me think that I had been bumped on purpose. He grinned and said, "Sorry to wake you, dad. This is how I've wanted to see Wally all night. Actually, this is how I've always wanted to see Wally."

Wally was wearing an old pair of Speedos I had tossed into the duffel bag. They had his old elementary school's name across the rump and were way too tight on him. Ryan was naked, one arm around Wally's shoulder pulling the boy against his chest, his other hand exploring Wally's body, pinching and twisting his nipples roughly, then fondling between the boy's legs, squeezing at his flesh. The look of unhappiness on my son's face made me glad that I hadn't ended up selling him to Ryan and his older lover.

Ryan looked at me slyly and said, "I'll show you what I dreamed of doing each day after swim practice with your boy here. I used to look in on the boys in the showers, always paying special attention to little Wally and always getting where I could see his round little ass cheeks. Hell, the kid had a fuckable bottom even back then."

Leaning toward Ryan I used my quietest but most intense voice to say, "You sick fuck, he was just a little kid then, and he looked even younger than his age."

Ryan started laughing out loud. He pushed Wally from his lap and positioned the boy so he was bent over the sofa. Wally was standing with his knees resting against the front of the sofa, but was bent over so his face and arms were resting on the back of the sofa. Ryan then took a huge knife and I was about to lunge for the man to protect the boy when he used the blade to cut the side of Wally's Speedos. The knife was tossed aside and the fabric from the swimsuit fell away but still clung around one of Wally's thighs.

"You sold your son into slavery today and you fucked him in the throat. If you wanna see a sick fuck, look in the mirror!" That said Ryan positioned the head of his penis against Wally's butthole. From my vantage point I could see that my son's anus was already distended and wet from previous fuckings. Then in one swift move Ryan shoved the full length of his cock all the way inside Wally.

Wally's howl of pain turned into a series of staccato sobs. But Ryan would not let up. He was determined to fuck my son as hard as he could. Each time Ryan's larger body slammed into Wally's butt, all the air seemed to be knocked out of the boy.

"P-p-please, sir, you're h-h-hurting me. C-c-coach, p-please."

"For the love of God, you bastard, you're hurting the poor kid," I shouted, standing to my full height.

That's when I became aware of the Major, who was still reclining nearly naked (he still kept his boots on) on the third sofa. In a calm voice, he said, "Now, hold on, dad, you're a bit out of line there. That slave boy is my property and he has to get used to being used any way my guests like."

I collapsed onto the sofa. Was that the moment I was hit with the full impact of what I'd done? The son I had raised for fourteen years was now another man's wholly owned property. Warren appeared then, took me by the arm and helped me up, saying, "I think you should've been in bed a while back, dad." I was wobbly on my feet.

As Warren helped me slowly out of the room I could hear the continual bang and oomph of Ryan's rough sex with my son. I also heard Ryan rattling on in a loud voice, "One day while you were in the pool I went back to the locker room and I got your white underpants out of your locker, Wally. I wrapped your briefs around my thick man-sized cock and beat off. I didn't sperm all that much since I was beating off a lot on days we had swim practice, but I wiped my spunk inside your underpants, little fella. I watched when you pulled those briefs up yr smooth little legs that day and when I knew you had my spunk against your hairless cheeks and balls 3;"

Warren and I were on the second floor and I couldn't hear any more of Ryan's story. But hearing what my son's elementary school coach had been saying didn't even faze me. There had been too much to absorb that day. With Warren's help I found the room where the Major had placed me. I saw that large double doors were open between my bedroom and the Major's bedroom. I fell into the bed and pulled the blanket around me. Warren took a seat beside me and just looked at me for a moment.

"Ryan is going to get his," the heavyset man said in a matter-of-fact way.

"What?"

"That snotty son-of-a-bitch who was fucking the new slave so hard and hurting him – he's going to be enslaved within a matter of months."

This had gotten my attention and I encouraged Warren to continue. He said, "Nigel always finds these cute young guys and is always so solicitous of them. He spoils them rotten and these boys start to think they're real hot shit who have Nigel wrapped around their little fingers. But after about two years Nigel loses interest. That's coming up pretty soon for Ryan. I can see a lot of the signs.

"Within a few months, maybe weeks, Ryan will find out that all those papers he signed were loans from Nigel, and he'll find out the loans are due and that he is legally enslaved. Nigel has a little habit of taking the money he gets from enslaving one boyfriend and using it for a lavish vacation with the next boyfriend."

"You're saying this old guy has followed the same pattern over and over?" I asked incredulous.

Warren nodded and went on, "If you're wondering why nobody has told Ryan, it's because Ryan is such a total son of a bitch that nobody cares to let him know. That's the other funny thing in the pattern – Nigel always chooses a good-looking athletic fellow who's thoroughly nasty and obnoxious."

"How does someone get into a pattern like that?" I asked, suddenly feeling wide awake.

Chuckling, Warren said "Who knows what went on in those English boarding schools that Nigel attended so many decades back?"

Then Warren looked at me as if considering whether he wanted to continue the conversation. "Do you want to know about the Major's pattern?" Warren asked. The look in my face clearly gave him an affirmative answer. "I've known the Major longer than any of these others. I knew him back when he was still married to a woman and keeping his attraction to men on the down low. But this incident I'm going to tell you about happened after he was divorced, kind of early in the time he was leading a gay life, and well before he made his peace with the Lord and joined his present church.

"The Major has homes in different parts of the world – usually places he has business interests. This happened on the day of his 40th birthday and we were celebrating with a group of gay friends, holding a barbecue at a home he has overlooking the Mississippi River. He got a phone call from the office and when he came back outside to join us he was grinning like a cat that ate the canary and holding a copy of the small town newspaper.

"We were all curious what was going on. He told us the phone call had been from an employee who had to come and bring him an envelope. He then opened the newspaper and showed us a photograph of a boy in a little league baseball uniform – this very pretty boy, shaggy blond hair in his eyes and adorable smile, had been the hero of the league championships. The Major pointed to the picture and told us this boy was the son of the employee who was coming to deliver the envelope. Then he told us that he had encouraged the employee to bring along his son for the ride. He had told the employee that he wanted to meet the hero who had brought the league championship to their little town and that the boy might enjoy a tour of the estate.

"It was an hour later when the employee showed up. I think his name was Martin, his last name I mean. This Martin fellow was quite a hunk to begin with. Blond crew cut, shoulders out to here, a chest that was practically popping his buttons, but slim hips and long strong legs. And it was clear that this boy took after his father. The kid was named Cody I think and was even cuter in person than in the newspaper. So the Major is all charm to both of them. He wants the dad to stay and have a drink. He offers them both some barbecue. And he's grilling them both to talk about themselves and all this time he keeps refilling the dad's drink."

I looked away to hide the fact that I was blushing. Asking questions and refilling drinks had been the Major's pattern with me.

"So then out of the blue the Major starts talking about the fact that he's gay. He talks about the fact that all of his buddies at the barbecue were either gay or they enjoyed dabbling with men. You could see Martin wasn't used to being around gay people. First he sends his son to go and explore the far side of the garden. Then he was squirming and looking at his watch like he couldn't wait to get out of there and this employee was talking all kinds of crap about how he's not prejudiced and he doesn't care what people do in the privacy of their own bedrooms.

"But the Major isn't about to let this father and son leave that easy. They got on the topic of age, this being the Major's 40th birthday. I remember Martin was something like 31 or 32, but he could've passed for 25."

Warren continued without missing a beat, "The Major comes right out and tells Martin what a good body he has and asks him to take off his shirt. Now, this fella was the kind of guy where if someone gay came up to him in a bar and made any kind of pass, he would beat the living daylights out of the homo. But here's the owner of his company, this powerful wealthy man, saying he'd like to see him without a shirt. Martin is hemming and hawing and turning red and wondering if this is all a joke or a test. So the Major looks him right in the eyes and says, 'Tell you what. If you strip down to your underpants right now and spend the rest of the day with me and my buddies just like that, I'll give you a thousand bucks.' This guy is frozen. Like he never imagined hearing such a thing and he couldn't even be sure he had really heard it.

"When Martin finally talks, what do you think he says? He says, 'If you're serious, I could really use that thousand bucks and it doesn't sound like it'd do me any harm, but what about my boy being here?' So the Major looks like he's thinking for a long minute and says, 'I'll give you two-thousand bucks if you and your boy both strip to underpants and hang out with us for the rest of the day without putting any other clothes on.'

"Well now I'm really working hard not to crack up laughing. Y'see I knew the Major well enough by then, and I knew the Major's tastes. Even though the dad was hot and had a great body and would've been the fantasy man for 90-percent of gays out there, I knew the Major was more interested in getting that son down to his underpants. And, well I guess you know the Major can be a persuasive man. I was boning up wondering just what would happen once this dad and son had both taken down their pants."

Warren was savoring my interest in his story as he continued, "But how to get the boy to buy into being undressed? The Major took control of the situation, as he usually does. He called the boy to join us, announced that the party was moving inside, and said since it was all stag and no women, it would be an underwear party. The Major had his arm around the dad's shoulder and he said, 'All us guys stripped to just underpants. Right, buddy?' This fellow Martin gives a positive response. So the Major turns to Cody and says, 'And that includes you too, young fella.' Cody whined at his father that he wanted to go home. But hell, Martin was already counting on that $2,000, so he scolded the boy to act polite to the nice gentlemen.

"Soon we're down in a big game room and all of us in just undershorts. One guest wasn't wearing any underwear, so the Major gave him this small little scrap of fabric that barely covered anything. I remember I wore red bikinis that day." Warren paused and looked at me pointedly as he added, "Back then I had a 32 inch [80 cm] waist and went to the gym five days a week, so there were plenty of men who liked seeing me in a pair of red bikini underpants."

Returning to his story, Warren's eyes glazed over as he said, "Of course all eyes were on the father and son as they undressed to their white briefs. The boy was at an age where he was shy about his body, even though he was toned and trim without an ounce of fat on him. You could tell he hated the idea of all these strange men seeing him in just his underpants. He was clinging beside his dad. But the Major, wearing just a pair of trim boxers, his chest very impressive back then, patted the sofa next to him and asked the boy to join him. What was the dad going to do? His filthy rich boss and all – he told his son to go sit next to the nice gentleman.

"The Major is asking the boy about his athletics and about his muscles and all this time the Major is touching the boy's body, pretending he's interested in the kid's muscle development. You could see the dad was getting real uncomfortable, but we'd just refill the man's drink and he'd just tell Cody to be a good boy. Finally, the Major had one hand feeling up the boy's butt and his other hand stroking his own erection that was now sticking out of the fly of his boxers. The kid jumped up, ran across the room and wrapped his arms around his daddy's chest calling out, 'Daddy don't let him. These guys are homos, daddy. I wanna go home.' Now the dad, clearly still thinking of the $2,000, is hemming and hawing and saying things like, 'well, maybe this has gone a little too far, sir.' So the Major stands up, not caring about his erection waving in front of him, and says, 'I'll give you $10,000 for the boy.' It was at that moment I thought the dad really would leap across the room and start punching the Major.

"But before that handsome employee could respond, the Major said, 'I'll make it $20,000.' Then, in the most businesslike way he says he wants to make sure the man has legal rights to enslave the boy. This was one of those southern states where the father of the house had all authority and the mother didn't have to be involved at all. This gets that dad flustered. Remember the man was pretty drunk by that time and he was talking about how he was the father and he had sole legal rights over his son. The Major announced in front of the whole room that this employee only earned $24,000 a year and therefore he would offer the man that amount for his enslaved son – a year's salary.

"This whole time the boy is whimpering things like, 'but I'm not a slave' and 'my daddy loves me, he wouldn't enslave me.' And the man starts echoing those same words, saying he loves his son and would never enslave him. Then a voice pipes up rattling off statistics. It seems the State Attorney General was one of the guests at the party – he was way older than us, bald on top and only white hair on his chest. He was the voice of reason explaining to this drunken father that trying to raise four children on a salary that low it was very likely at least one of his sons would be enslaved for life on some criminal charges. He even gave pretty good odds that two of the sons would end up enslaved.

"The boy is still clinging to his dad's bare chest. The dad is shaking his head and starts weeping drunken tears all about how he doesn't want to see any of his boys criminally enslaved. The Attorney General was a smooth talker. He goes on about how if a boy is criminally enslaved there's no telling who his owner might be and the family doesn't get a dime, whereas if this man would sell his cute young son into slavery that very afternoon, his boy would have a good master, and the family would be well cared for financially.

"Another guest there owned the local bank. He talked about how proud Cody should be about entering slavery because it would help the rest of the family. You notice the conversation was turning in a direction where the boy's enslavement was already a given. The boy starts whimpering that his daddy would never enslave him. But before he gets very far, the Major calls out '$48,000! That's the amount you earn in two year's time, Martin. Think of how far that would go with one less mouth to feed.'

"I saw a dazed look on the employee's face. Like this was the first moment he seriously thought about enslaving that pretty son of his. Before a minute passed, the Major called out '$72,000 is the amount you'd earn in three years and that's my final offer.' That was when Martin let go of his son, saying that this was talk for the grown up men and that his son shouldn't worry.

The Major called out to me that for safekeeping I should place the boy in a slave cage that was in the corner of that room. The boy protested saying he was a free boy and that we had no right to cage him. But the Attorney General quoted some obscure law that any youth who overheard talk about his own possible enslavement could be reasonably restrained. The boy was bright. He then complained that we had no right to keep him stripped down to just his underpants. It turns out the boy's gym bag was in the trunk of the dad's car. The Major had the boy dress in his full baseball uniform, including his cap. Then the boy was placed into the slave cage under my watchful eyes.

"It was nearly two hours later when the group of men returned. The dad had gone off with the Major, the Attorney General and the bank president. I would learn later that they had managed to get into the bank and transfer the funds into the dad's bank account, even though it was the weekend. The Attorney General knew that once the money was in the bank account and all the papers signed, the father could not change his mind.

"Clearly, the right thing to do when they returned would have been to announce to the boy that he was legally enslaved and to order him to strip naked. But instead they opened the slave cage, apologized to the boy for putting him in there, and acted all friendly to the kid. They offered him ice cream. Now, naturally, he's figuring that any threat of him becoming a slave is now forgotten. So the boy is being really friendly back to the men. They compliment him on how nice he looks in his baseball uniform and he just blushes and grins."

Even in my hazy state I was putting together some thoughts in my head. I knew the maximum age range for little league – even my son Wally would be too old at his present age. I also knew that at the time of this story the age of full use for slaveboys was sixteen. These numbers were playing in my head. It was clear that Warren was talking about an illegal underage enslavement. But there are some questions it is best not to ask.

Warren continued, "So, here's Cody sitting on a sofa between the Major and the Attorney General. The boy is finishing his ice cream and answering questions about his baseball team, when the Major starts feeling up the kid's thigh. The boy mumbles for him to stop touching his leg. But the Major ignores him and just talks to the Attorney General about how nice the boy's muscle tone is. So the Attorney General is feeling up the boy's other thigh and he tells the boy to take down his pants so he can feel the skin. The kid really becomes pissed off then and says he won't, and he calls for his dad to get the homos off him. Now all this time the dad is only half awake on a couch across the room, but he's watching the whole thing. He yells back, 'Boy, do what the nice men want. If they tell you to take down your pants, you'll take down your pants.'

"Believe it or not that was the first time I saw tears form in this boy's eyes. He unbuckled and unzipped and peeled his uniform pants down his thighs as slow as he possibly could. Of course he took care to have the shirttails covering his briefs. As the Major and the Attorney General were feeling up the boy's exposed thighs, I reached around from behind pulling open his uniform shirt, and popping some buttons in the process, and pulling up his t-shirt. My hands went to his flat nipples and I began teasing them, while the Major's fingers moved into the leg opening of the boy's white briefs to fondle the kid's balls."

A vision played in my head. Warren was describing the scene I had just witnessed in the parlor involving my newly enslaved son, Wally. The Major had wanted his new slave to get dressed in his free boy clothes, and then he had his guests feel up Wally's legs, tell him to take down his pants. Could Warren actually be describing something that happened 20 years earlier? Or was he confused and just rattling off what he had witnessed that night?

As if he read my mind, a gentle smile played across Warren's mouth and he said, "Yes, the scene with Wally tonight was the Major's attempt to re-enact that birthday celebration 20 years earlier. Cody, the boy he bought on his 40th birthday, also ended up bent over a table while the Major took his anal virginity. The boy's father was also the first one in his mouth, just as you were the first to use Wally's mouth."

My voice went a little frenetic as I said, "No, no, it's not the same. I found those gay sex pictures among my son's things. I legally enslaved him and had bids on him long before the Major laid eyes on Wally. It's not like I just got drunk at a party and 3;" Losing my train of thought I then ranted, "And who says I was the first in the boy's mouth? If those pictures of his swim teammates are any indication I'm guessing he's used that mouth plenty."

Warren calmed me down and said, "I know. I know your situation was quite different. But, here's the thing. Every year for his birthday, the Major sets out to find a new slave. Of course now, with his important position, he is careful to make sure the boy is legal age. But he enjoys the ones who are slim, boyish and have a young look, like Wally. Each year he tries to find a boy who's relatively fresh to slavery. He tries to put the boy in clothes and re-enact that scene from his 40th birthday.

"This year was a magical time for the Major. That's why I chose to tell you the story. Don't you see: Your boy was less than 24-hours enslaved; whatever the truth may be, your boy contends that he's heterosexual; you hadn't even given him a slave haircut. And of course the one piece that made the story complete was you, the boy's father, being part of the whole experience."

My mind ran in a different direction and I asked, "The slave boy, Cody, what happened to him?"

"After having quite an evening and a night with Cody, and having someone drive the father home, the Major and I decided it would be wise for us to leave that town. We didn't know how the locals would react hearing the Major had just enslaved their little league hero. But it turned out the Major's public relations machine was really topnotch. A story ran on the front page of the local paper 3; well, it made out how the Major had taken an interest in the youth and had offered to help out the family financially. It made the boy out to be a hero for helping his down-and-out family bankroll their future by having himself enslaved. It made the boy's enslavement out to be the Major's way of seeing to the boy's training and his future. Little did they know the sort of training the Major was putting that kid through."

"What happened? Does the Major still own the boy?"

"He sold Cody after about four or five years. These days the Major gets bored much more quickly and rarely keeps a slave boy more than a two or three, no matter how cute he is."

When he saw the alarm on my face, Warren went on, "Don't worry about Wally. When the Major likes a slave boy he's very particular about choosing a buyer for the boy. However, I'm sorry to say Cody did not end up doing very well. It turned out that the Major was so indulgent with the boy, so soft on the boy – I suppose he felt some guilt about the circumstances of the boy's enslavement – that he never even paddled the kid. Cody was never treated like a real slave by the Major. So when he went to a new owner, the boy was disobedient and willful. He was strapped so badly and passed on to yet another owner. That pretty white butt of his 3; such a shame. Nobody was gonna want to use him as a sex slave after that. Well, nobody who just wanted standard sex 3;."

Warren just shook his head slowly. I said, "What? Tell me? How did the boy end up? Where did the boy end up?"

Warren patted me on the head and said, "You go to sleep now. You've had a long day."

I wouldn't let Warren stop at that so I asked, "What about the boy's family? What about the father?"

"He did quite well for himself," Warren said, standing now. "The Major kept track of him over the years. The man used the money to open his own business and became wealthy by small town standards. The irony though – well, one of his sons was enslaved for sexual assault on a girl and another son was enslaved for drunk driving. But the youngest son is now partners in the business with his dad." Then Warren disappeared from the room, turning the lights off.

Chapter 5
Waking Up Sober

As I lay in the dark turning all this over in my head I saw a dim light come on in the next room. I turned my face to the wall as I heard feet shuffling in. I heard the voice of my son saying, "But he hurt me bad back there, master."

The Major sounded a little drunk now as he said, "We're going to play a little game now, lad. Any other time you will call me master, because I'm your owner. But just for now I want you to call me grampa."

"Grampa, sir?"

"Just grampa, little fella." Then I heard the sound of a wet sloppy kiss but I couldn't tell what was being kissed. The Major continued, "Here are the pajamas my real grandson wore on his last visit here."

"They're a little tight on me, sir 3; I mean, grampa."

There was the sound of a smack. I could picture my son being whacked across the butt. It seemed playful though as the Major continued, "That's because my pretty little grandson is getting to be such a big boy now."

I felt calmer now. I was drifting off to sleep, thinking how nice it was for Wally to be playing grampa with the powerful 60-year-old man. Wally had never known either of his real grandfathers.

The last thing I remember was the Major's voice saying, "Now show me where that mean man hurt my little buddy. Grampa will kiss it and make it better for you." Then I was sound asleep.

I woke to a loud alarm and rubbed my eyes. Before I could even see anything I heard the Major's voice saying, "Better get showered if you're going to make it to church with us." I turned in his direction. He was sitting on the edge of the bed naked. My son, Wally, was on his knees in front of the Major, his mouth filled with the man's organ. I saw the boy's face flushing red. He was aware that I was watching him drinking his new master's morning piss.

Turning away from the lurid scene in front of me, I started pulling on my clothes. I stumbled as I did so. The Major was telling me that I couldn't go to his church smelling like a still. I told him how I needed to get home and get to my own church. But that wasn't the truth. I just needed to get out of that house.

The Major led Wally into his open shower room and kept talking to me as the boy adjusted the water. He told me about the new addition he had paid for at his church. They could angle open the rear windows so that the slaves, chained to platforms outside, could see into the service, but none of the parishioners could see the slaves. He told me the slaves always wore straps to hold their genitals and also slave shorts that were pulled down in back when they were shackled to the platforms. That's so the overseers could swing a whip at any butt of a boy who wasn't singing loud enough when it came to the hymns.

I watched as the Major was instructing my son in how to wash him in the shower. The boy's soapy hands moved over the man's chest. Then the Major asked, "Did you get all the soap washed off?" When the boy didn't respond, he commanded, "Use your tongue to check whether all the soap is cleaned off."

My naked son's tongue made contact with the man's right nipple, almost hidden in its field of salt and pepper hair. I also saw that the Major's cock was growing fully erect. He commanded, "On your knees, boy." I called goodbye over my shoulder and was down the stairs two at a time.

Why did I feel so different in the cold light of morning? The previous night I had felt so confident that enslaving Wally was the right thing to do, but now I felt regrets. Plus I couldn't shake the image of my cute teenage son in the shower about to kneel before the Major's thick erect penis.

The drive back home was nerve wracking. Thoughts were ricocheting through my brain. At one point I felt guilty for the sexual pleasure I had experienced the previous night, my cock exploding down Wally's throat. At another point I felt an erotic thrill thinking of my newly enslaved son in the tattered remains of his blue suit, his legs being held in the air and spread wide as a middle-aged man fucked his ass. I felt grief at the loss of my son. But then I felt peace knowing that the queer boy was owned by a homo who was also a good Christian.

I knew I couldn't keep any of the events of the previous day secret from Reverend Flick, even though I'd be ashamed to confess that I had caroused with homosexuals who were having sex in the same room where I laid naked and observing them.

Even though it was Sunday, the reverend made time for me late in the evening. I sat with him over cups of coffee in the kitchen of his house and started to relate the story of my day with Wally in Gaytown. He could see that when I got to the incidents at the party, I was having trouble telling him of all my actions.

But the reverend was a loving man. As to my being in the company of the Major's homo friends, the reverend reminded me to "hate the sin, not the sinner." He thought it was good for me to see the humanity in these poor men "even though the Lord has turned his back on them," and that I might have lit a spark of hope for salvation deep inside any one of these men.

As to the sexual contact I'd had with Wally, the reverend seemed perplexed about why it so distressed me. He said that Wally, at that time, was a slave and that we both knew that sex with a slave boy did not constitute the sin of homosexuality. As to the fact that Wally had been my son before enslavement, the reverend felt I may have done the boy a great service. He said that what I'd done was one of the gentlest and kindest, yet effective ways to make a newly enslaved boy accept his station. "When a family member uses the new slave just as if it were any other slave – nothing else so clearly says that the boy is truly a slave in everyone's eyes."

By this time the reverend and I had moved on to drinking brandy. He had made me feel better about the entire situation I'd been through. He even exclaimed, "Good heavens, the boy was a queer who wanted to indulge in perverse acts with men. Now he's a slave boy who will be used for disgusting sexual acts by men. You've made Wally's fantasies come true." I had to laugh. I had kept telling myself words very similar to that the previous day.

Our conversation took a quiet tone when I expressed concern about telling Will of his older brother's enslavement. "The boy will be upset, no doubt. But with time he'll see that he now gets all of daddy's love and attention without having to share. Plus, he's a reasonable kid, he'll come to see it was better to get a homo like Wally out of our community."

Of course I committed myself to giving the church a large chunk of the $120,000 payment as a tithe. Without the guidance of Reverend Flick and the church, my family situation would not have worked out as beautifully as it did.

It is now very late on Sunday evening. Actually I see the sky getting lighter and the sun is beginning to rise. I stayed awake because I had to get this entire story down on paper. Before I go to sleep I will post this story to my Christian father's group. I invite my fellow members to pass this story along to anyone they feel might benefit from reading it. Dear Reader, if my experience with my son Wally has brought a smile to your lips or helped you to consider the many ways that a boy can serve his father, then that's my blessing to you.

THERE IS ONE MORE CHAPTER TO COME! This was the ORIGINAL ENDING of the story. Having started with the 17 members of an online Christian father's group, this story was passed around the Internet and translated into eleven languages that we know of.

HOWEVER, A POSTSCRIPT TO THE ORIGINAL STORY APPEARED more than two years after the original posting. One of the members of the father's online group who had received the original story directly from the nameless storyteller, authenticated that the postscript had indeed come from the same man.

If you feel content with the happy ending of this main part of the story, we urge you NOT to read the postscript. Some disturbing facts came to light that caused the man who wrote the postscript to change a great deal over those two years.

Chapter 6
Postscript

(Written two years later)

I had found the gay sex pictures among Wally's things on Friday afternoon, had enslaved him that very night, taken him to the Gaytown slave hall in Capitol City the very next day, and Saturday night I found myself at the 60th birthday party of the very wealthy man who had purchased my newly enslaved son. By Sunday I felt ashamed of a lot of things I'd done – especially sticking my penis in Wally's mouth in front of all those homos at the party. Being a good Christian man I felt ashamed of simply being around all those queers. But my minister soothed my fears, reminding me that Wally was a slave and that sex with a male slave did not count as the sin of homosexuality.

It was in those high spirits that I quickly wrote up my experiences on that Sunday. I went to sleep with the sunrise and felt for the most part calm and satisfied. The one thing that most troubled me was how to tell my younger son, Will, that his older brother had been enslaved. Will was away on a camping trip with his friend Austin and Austin's dad Bob.

This being a three-day weekend, I wasn't expecting Will back home till late Monday night, but midday Monday I was awakened from my sound sleep by stomping feet on the stairs. I rubbed my eyes and there was Will at my doorway greeting me. I pulled on a pair of pants and followed him into his room, fearing that I might have to talk to him about Wally's enslavement before I was truly ready.

Will seemed oblivious to the disappearance of Wally's possessions from the room. He tossed his bag on the bed that was nearest the window, then went to the shelf behind that bed and asked, "Dad, where's my t-shirts?"

"Those were Wally's t-shirts, son. And that's Wally's bed and his shelf."

"Nah, they were middle school stuff so Wally wanted me to have them. Didn't he tell you that him and me switched beds? He's such a good brother. He figured since he'd only be home on holidays from prep school I should have the bed near the window."

I felt a little faint as I quickly approached the shelf where Will was standing. I looked at the pile of papers, knowing that the gay sex pictures were still somewhere in that pile. I looked from the papers to my younger son and said, "But these are Wally's school notes."

Will looked at me as if I was dense. "Yeh. And what does he need his eighth grade notes for? I'm gonna be taking those classes in the next few years, so Wally gave me his old notes."

My mind was racing. I had enslaved Wally because of the pictures I had found on this very shelf. I had assumed Wally was queer because there were gay sex pictures among papers and clothes that I thought belonged to him. As I looked at Will's face, I felt certain that those pictures couldn't belong to my younger boy. Will was still too young; his face was too sweet and innocent. I was rationalizing that the nasty pictures were Wally's and that Wally had inadvertently left them among papers he gave to his younger brother.

Just as I was trying to figure out what to say to Will, the phone rang. I was irritated at the interruption and gruff when I answered the phone. It was my old friend, Bob, the father of Will's friend, Austin, the man who had taken both boys on the camping trip. I told him I was busy and couldn't speak, but he was insistent. He said I had to come to his house just two blocks away. My brain was too befuddled to talk to anyone right then, but Bob kept insisting. I'd never heard him use that tone of voice before. I told Will I'd be back soon and he said he'd be taking a shower and then a nap.

I was at Bob's house in less than five minutes and greeted him with, "This had better be important." He told me he had found something that prompted him to come home early and then he led me into the kitchen where Austin sat looking down at the table, his face red and tear stained. Bob held a pile of pictures in front of my face – the same sort of throw-away instant camera pictures I had found in my sons' room. I was stunned. I could scarcely breathe.

The first few pictures showed Austin's penis erect – some from the side and some looking up at the organ. Then there was a picture, obviously taken by Austin, aiming down at his own penis and showing a boy's head at his crotch. I recognized the hair color. I recognized the haircut. The next picture showed my son Will smiling up at the camera, Austin's penis in his mouth.

I collapsed into a chair. I was wishing that the Lord would take me right at that moment. But of course it was not my time to leave this world because I had things I needed to make right.

The silence was finally broken by Austin's reedy voice. "I keep telling you, Pa, I ain't the queer one. Will is the one been sucking off all the boys. Any boy who wants to get sucked, they have to let Will take a picture of their boner. I didn't do no sucking, Pa. I didn't even touch his homo prick. He's the one. Everybody knows Will sucked off almost every boy on the swim team."

Words were floating in my head as I tried to make sense of what I just heard. I looked right into Austin's face and he cowered back from me. But I just asked, "Almost every boy on the swim team? How many boys didn't he suck off?"

Austin was obviously surprised by my question. He looked back down at the table and mumbled, "Well, everybody always knows that Wally is so upright and religious, he's the only one who wouldn't put his pecker in Will's mouth." I couldn't speak as I tried to process that and the youngster continued, "Wally knew about the things his younger brother did and he just always said that he prayed for Will. You can ask Wally yourself if what I'm telling you is true. You know Wally would never tell a lie, sir."

I thought about the way Wally had protested just two days earlier, insisting that he was not gay. And then when he was stripped for sale in the Gaytown slave hall, as the Major groped his young body, still insisting that he was straight. Yes, indeed, Wally would never tell a lie.

The process of enslaving Will is a blur. The one thing I can tell you is that when his naked body was being handled by the sheriff, Will clearly seemed to be enjoying it. When the sheriff's fingers felt around Will's butthole, the boy was moaning and there was jizz dripping from his erect penis. Indeed, this was the son who was meant to be a gay sex slave.

In addition to calling Rev. Flick, Sheriff Taylor and Ace Brady, I also phoned the Major, who was kind enough to drive all the way from Capitol City and meet us at the sheriff's office. The Major said he was just packing and preparing for a trip to his Florida estate, and he'd be taking along his newest slave, Wally.

I was surprised by the Major's curious reaction to Will. He remarked about how cute and desirable Will was, but didn't think he'd be interested in purchasing the younger boy. He reminded me that he had said he had no interest in buying gay slaves. Still he touched Will all over, rubbing the boy's nipples, playing with his penis, and fingering his butthole. Throughout this, there was a terrified look in Will's eyes and he was shaking his head.

The Major asked permission to remove Will's gag and to allow the slave to speak. As the Major was doing this I said to my younger son, "I don't know what you're making a fuss about. You admitted you're a homo, you want sex with guys and the Major here likes young boys like you 3;"

"But Dad, sir," Will quickly blurted out. "I'm only turned on by young guys like in high school or college. I don't want to do stuff with an old guy. Plus, I only did stuff with my mouth. I don't want anybody to do stuff up my butt."

The Major then took me aside, said he had rethought how nice it would be to unite the two brothers, and offered $80,000 for Will. "That will make an even $200,000 for both brothers together. They'll look nice as a set."

"No, no, Major, you don't understand my intent," I said. "I want to make a trade and give you Will in place of Wally. If you say Will is worth $80,000 to you then I'd give you back $40,000 from what you paid for Wally. And we'd simply trade boys so you'd have the queer one."

The rich man shook his head and started to storm off, saying I had wasted his time. I followed him out to the parking lot and he was complaining that the only reason he wanted Will was so he'd have the two brothers together. "Besides," he turned to me and snapped. "At Will's age I'm not even allowed to use him for sex."

Up till that time I had been always courteous and respectful to the Major, but now my voice took on an edge as I said, "Major, sometimes you city folk think that because I didn't go to a big university I don't know anything at all. I know about the new law in Florida, sir. And I know what you're allowed to do 3; in Florida 3;" I faltered a little bit, not sure how to word this and then my voice petered out with, "in Florida 3; with a boy 3; a boy of Will's age."

He grinned broadly as he offered his hand and an apology. Rev. Flick had followed us out to the parking lot and now urged both of us to come back inside and let him act as mediator. I finished off a cup of coffee before the minister reported on his conversation with the wealthy man. The Major offered the same $80,000 for Will, with a provision that he would return Wally to me in three months time, at which time I would return $100,000 to the Major. It would be the equivalent of the Major paying $20,000 to rent Wally for three months.

"B-but, now that I know Wally isn't queer 3; to leave him there with those men 3; doing those things 3;" A chill ran up my spine at the thought. But the reverend assured me it was the right thing to do. He said something about the Lord sending us tests. He reminded me that a slave did his duty in spite of his own preferences. And he was philosophical about the fact that Wally had already performed these perverse sex acts – he would likely only do more of the same. We said a prayer together and I signed the papers.

Just as the Major was getting ready to leave with Will, Bob's beat-up old pickup truck came rattling in. Austin was hogtied with clothesline in the back of the truck and he was shouting up a storm. "You filthy bastard, I told you I ain't never done nothing with any guys except letting Will suck my dick. The one who gets sucked off ain't the homo."

Bob didn't even wait to get inside. Right there in the parking lot, we helped hold Austin down as the boy got stripped by his own father. The Major ran his hands all over Austin, paying special attention to his dick and his ass. If the boy hadn't been gagged, he looked like he would've spit at the Major for the indignities.

As Ace Brady was getting the paperwork in order, the Major offered Bob $60,000. Without any negotiating, Bob stuck out his hand and the two men shook on the deal. Since he had to wait for Austin's enslavement, the Major chatted with me. He explained that he had a lot of parties planned for the summer and that having Wally and Will together would be fun for his guests. In my brain I kept on repeating, "They'll be serving drinks," and tried not to think of the queer sex acts they'd be expected to perform. Then he also explained that his friend, Warren, had just purchased a house down the road from his own estate in Florida. The Major would deliver Austin the slave as Warren's housewarming present.

During the three months I waited for Wally, I saw Rev. Flick for counseling at least three times a week. I talked about my feelings as a father and we talked together about the Bible. Paying for these counseling sessions ate into the profits I'd made selling my sons, but I felt I needed the reverend's wisdom. I also read many books about owning and caring for slaves including The Christian Slavemaster and Cruel to be Kind, both recommended by the Rev. Flick. But I never responded to any of the messages from my online Christian father's support group. After sharing the story of Wally's enslavement with these men I wasn't prepared to explain the ensuing events.

The slave transport service delivered Wally to me totally naked except for his collar, handcuffs attached to the collar, and leg shackles that limited his steps. When the deliverymen left I undid the slave's cuffs and he startled me by trying to put his arms around me and calling out, "Daddy, I knew you'd 3;" Before he could get out another word I had touched my slave prod to one of his nipples – he was writhing on the floor his limbs shaking.

I looked down at the pathetic figure on the floor and said, "I had understood you were a well-trained slave. That outburst makes me think otherwise. On your knees, boy. And aren't you going to thank your master for the correction."

He stumbled to his knees, his head bowed, and recited, "Thank you, master, for offering correction to this humble slave." Then he lowered his head and kissed each of my shoes, raising his round butt up in the air. Apparently, the Major had kept Wally naked on his Florida estate as the boy's flesh had a golden tan including his formerly white cheeks.

Looking down at Wally in that position I reconfirmed what a handsome lad he was. His body looked even better than before he was enslaved. His muscles had a little more fullness and there wasn't an ounce of fat to be seen on his lean frame. As the slave was kissing my boots, my penis was reacting, getting thicker and longer in my jeans.

"Slave," I said, getting his attention. Then I just tapped my finger against the tent in the front of my pants. He reached his hand to my zipper but I slapped it away and said, "With your mouth, boy. I want to see how well you've been trained."

Wally grabbed my zipper with his teeth and lips and worked it down. The movement of his adorable face was making my cock throb as he worked to get it out of my pants. When my cock popped free I whispered, "Worship it, Wally." His tongue snaked out of his mouth and he followed my command superbly. He licked down the length of my penis, then rolled his tongue around the head before taking the full length into his mouth. He did something that felt like he was massaging my cock with his throat muscles.

I thought back to the last blowjob I had gotten from this boy. At that time he was struggling as men held him down across a table, his clothes in tatters. Although I didn't believe his claims of innocence when it happened I now knew that mine had indeed been the first spunk he ever swallowed.

Now I had a well-trained cocksucker on his knees swallowing down the length of my hard penis. I grabbed onto Wally's ears and started to fuck his mouth. My broad cockhead was ramming the back of his throat again and again. It was amazing. The boy had no trouble at all taking that rough mouth fucking. I couldn't last long and soon I grabbed the back of his head, pressing his nose into my bush as my cock pulsed rivers of semen down his throat.

As soon as I pulled my cock from his mouth I had a list of chores for him to do the rest of the day. It's important to let a slave know he will be expected to work hard. Wally stayed naked as he laid out rocks for the new stone pathway in the backyard. I sat on the back porch enjoying a beer as I watched him and was soon joined by Rev. Flick who couldn't get over how fine Wally looked. Unabashedly, the man of God asked, "Have you been in that fine slave ass yet?" I told him how much I had enjoyed Wally's mouth and how well trained my son was. When I saw the look in Flick's eyes, I nodded for him to take Wally into the garage. I heard a series of smacks and grunts from the garage. Less than five minutes later, the minister came out of there with a broad smile, dragging Wally by his slave collar.

I saw that Wally's face was glowing bright red and he seemed to be in pain. I asked, "Did the boy do something wrong? Why did you have to slap him?"

Rev. Flick chuckled to himself and said, "It always gives my manhood an extra tingle to be slapping or spanking when I seek my release. I was quite expert with a whip and cane in my younger days."

Wally went back to work. I then brought him into the kitchen to prepare my steak and baked potato. I poured a generous bowl of slave chow for him on the floor beside my feet and I insisted he eat it the correct way, with his mouth and no hands. Just because this boy was once my son I was not going to slack on my expectations of him as a slave.

The broom closet off the pantry was converted into a room for the slave. It was wide enough for a thin mattress and, since slaves have no possessions, the space did not have to accommodate anything else. But for the first night he would not have to sleep in his little room. I snapped a leash to his collar and brought him to my bedroom.

I wish I could tell you that the first time I fucked Wally that night was sensual and leisurely and memorable. But I guess I had too much anticipation. I ended up tossing the boy belly down on the bed and rammed my cock into him. He whimpered as I fucked quickly in and out. In less than three minutes I was filling the boy with spunk.

That had been the first time in my life I ever fucked a guy's ass. Actually, it was the first time I had ever fucked any ass. I was in ecstasy by the way his cheeks were soft and yet firm, and the way my balls pressed into him when I thrust forward. When that first time was over, I wondered how I had deprived myself of this fantastic pleasure for so long, and I was ready to fuck again. This second time I rolled Wally onto his back, held him tenderly in my arms, and fucked his bottom while passionately kissing his mouth.

With his body shaved, his hair trimmed to a quarter inch [5 mm], and his frame so lean, he looked just as he'd looked when he was younger. For a moment I imagined that this was all happening two, maybe three years earlier, that this was my free boy son underneath me, and that I was performing a forbidden act on him. I then understood why the Major got such a thrill from pretending he was fucking a free boy, as I shot an even larger load deep inside Wally's guts. That orgasm took so much out of me I found myself falling asleep with my cock still inside the boy's hole. But then I felt Wally shaking in my arms, heard his stifled weeping and felt his tears on my hairy chest. I kissed all over his face and kept assuring him how much he had pleased his master. When that didn't stop his crying, I said, "Boy, I give you permission to speak."

That seemed to stun him into silence. He sniffled a bit and said, "Thank you, master, for permission to speak." But rather than speaking he just seemed to be shaking with fear. When he finally spoke he was looking at my chest and not at my face. "Master, sir 3; when I realized I was here, master 3; b-back home, I thought 3; well, I thought that I was going to be 3;" There was a long pause and then he quickly blurted out all at once, "I thought you brought me back here to be your son, master, and not a slave."

I patted his head. I shouldn't have tortured the poor boy and made him say all that. I already knew what he was thinking. I softly said, "I know that slaves don't need explanations. But in this case I will give you one, boy. On the day I first asked the Major to trade you for your brother, I had a mind to return you here as my son. But since then, I've read a lot, prayed on it a lot, and been advised by Rev. Flick.

"Wally, much as I loved you as my son, you've been tainted. Your belly and your guts have been filled with homo sperm. Lord only knows how many gallons of piss you've drunk, boy. I can't take you back into this house, into this community as my son." As I was saying the words, my hips were already moving slowly, my cock was once again fully stiff deep inside my boy's guts.

"I'm sorry, master," the boy whispered. Then, although tears still streamed down his face, he spoke in a clear voice, "Master, thank you for your penis and thank you for putting your sperm into this unworthy slave boy." I was so proud of my son right then – he had become a wonderful slave. With that I started fucking the boy for a third time that night and I pushed my tongue deep in his throat. I had never before felt so aroused sexually.

Much as I enjoyed sex with the slave, it became obvious there wasn't enough work for Wally to do around my house. So I started earning money by sending Wally out to do work for others. His services were hired by a surprising number of single gentlemen, including the principal of Wally's old school who had recently been through a divorce.

Of course I did not charge Rev. Flick for Wally's services every Wednesday afternoon. I knew this was the time the reverend's wife was at her garden club. Wally always returned from the Flick home with his anus distended and his butt cheeks glowing red with stripes from either a cane or a strap. I figured the reverend deserved that sort of relaxation.

I also loaned Wally for free to the Young Slave Handler's club. The sheriff's son Brad was always so appreciative and polite when he came with his father to pick up or drop off Wally, but the slave boy was just sullen on those nights. One time as Brad was packing Wally into the trunk of his dad's car, I overheard the free boy say, "I've got a special treat for you. I purposely didn't wash my rod so you'd get to have a taste of your ex-girlfriend's pussy juice."

When the holidays rolled around, I received a nice card with a note from the Major in which he explained that he and his friend Warren had ended up trading slaves. Austin now belonged to the Major, while my younger son Will belonged to Warren. I was pleased to hear that – although the obese man had made a bad first impression on me, he was a good and decent person. I was pleased to think of him enjoying my pretty young son.

But as the next summer approached, my life was in a rut. Wally cared well for the house and for me, but something was missing from my life. It was Rev. Flick who provided the answer. When he said it, I immediately agreed: I needed a family! The reverend played matchmaker with a very beautiful young lady. Actually, this girl had just graduated from high school. As young as she was, Rosalie came from a very protective conservative household and her father wanted to see her married to a good Christian man who was older and dependable. The girl tested as being fertile and capable of bearing children. The father and I got along very well. There was only one problem. The father would not let his daughter marry me and move into my house as long as my former son was a slave in the household. I understood the man's misgivings.

I dug up the phone number of that resort in the Caribbean that had been so interested in Wally just a year before. The well-built young man's name was Kirk and he drove to our town the very next day. He took Wally into a room and, from what I heard through the door, had very vigorous sex with the boy. He came out of the room straightening his clothes and offered me $72,000, explaining that Wally wasn't worth as much as he had been a year earlier because he no longer had the fresh innocence.

As with any other major decisions I went to speak to Rev. Flick. But at that time the minister was preoccupied with concerns about Camp Holy Rod, the religious retreat used by ministers as well as certain wealthy lay members of our denomination. The answer to both our problems became obvious. I ended up selling Wally to Camp Holy Rod. It would be a rustic life. The boy would be chopping wood and carrying water from a well. The reverend also warned me that most of the religious gentlemen staying at the retreat had strict ideas about correcting slaves. Wally would get his share of strappings and paddlings and canings. But it would all be in the service of the Lord. The retreat could only pay me $20,000, so I didn't make nearly as much profit as if I had sold my boy to the resort. But I felt better about his future knowing he'd be under the strict hand of religious men like Rev. Flick.

Of course I didn't tell the slave about any of these plans. I watched from the stair landing as Wally answered the door one morning and was set upon by two burly men from slave transport. They were very efficient and had him gagged, shackled and blindered in under a minute. That was the last I saw of my older son.

Rosalie and I were married a few weeks later. She's been a good wife, wonderful cook and housekeeper, and heeds her husband's word just as she had done with her father. Our first son was born last November. Ironically, Mark was born on my birthday.

I began having these strange dreams that flashed back to the Major's 60th birthday party, except it was my 60th birthday instead. In the dream only men were at the party and they were holding a slim blond boy across a table expecting me to sodomize him. From behind, the boy looked like Wally, but the men kept referring to him as Mark. I discussed this with Rev. Flick, but he told me that dreams have no meaning and that I shouldn't eat spicy foods close to bedtime. He also reminded me that I needed to focus on the future since Rosalie is now expecting our second son. Then we prayed together.

The End