Mister Red

Understanding Modern Indenture

Book I
Understanding Modern Indenture Class

The government of the Great North Plains Federation of States profits from selling the best looking and most athletic 17-year-old boys as pleasure slaves. To help ease and encourage this transition for the most desirable teenage boys, schools offer Understanding Modern Indenture Classes in their sophomore year of high school. In this story we hear from one of the first UMI instructors. He developed curriculum with the assistance of the Institute for Slave Management, and works cooperatively with local slave dealers and trainers. In this story he speaks frankly about the history and practices of his class, as well as the outcomes for certain boys. As the year progresses there are unexpected surprises that have a big impact on him and on the boys in his class.

Our esteemed educator likes to say: "I will not have sex with any student. I could never break the law in that way. I can however strip, ogle, and feel up a good looking boy, in the interest of his education."

As told by the esteemed Dr. Franklin Handley, pioneer in the curriculum for Understanding Modern Indenture and friend to the Slave Trading Industry

I've been teaching Understanding Modern Indenture classes ever since they were first introduced in our Great North Plains high schools. For the past 15 years I've taught three sections of High School Civics during the week. On Saturdays I teach a day-long workshop for 15-year-old boys to learn about our modern system of indenture.

This last year I began with 18 boys in my UMI class. They were the best looking young bucks in their sophomore year of our school (with a few older freshmen for good measure). Though there was a variety of body types – from football players to gymnasts – all of them had tight, fat-free bodies, with flat tummies and nicely-curved butts. Since this program began, those are the boys who've been assigned to take UMI.

I actually started as a Civics teacher almost 30 years ago. At that time the legislature had just passed the Enslavement Laws, which applied to boys 18 and over. The legislation had wide public support. The idea was that criminals should not be a drain on society's finances. Having them serve as slaves, they would be earning their keep as well as bringing profits to our government. I remember the first time one of our then-current students got enslaved. He was a senior, a boy who was often in trouble at school. I took my Civics students to watch this young buck being packed into a cage for shipment to Eureka (that was before I started teaching UMI).

The year after that a very different kind of boy got indentured. Robbie was president of our student body and captain of our baseball team. He was a scout who volunteered for charitable causes. But he got drunk one night and ran his car into a tree. The boy who was in the car with him lost a leg. So Robbie was indentured for life and everyone was shocked. When they decided to sell the boy locally because of his fame in the community, of course there was a big crowd to watch Robbie's auction. He shivered up there, stripped to his free boy underpants, hands cuffed to his metal collar. The auctioneer kept showing off Robbie's best features, repeatedly tugging down Robbie's briefs to reveal his perfect little bubble butt. Robbie was sold to a little rinkydink boy brothel in Capitol City. Don't know what happened to him after that. It's a shame he ended that way, he had so much potential.

It took some people a few years to get used to this new arrangement. But soon it became part of the fabric of our society, and there was no real opposition when they lowered the age of indenture to 17. In the first few years of having indentured servants, men might have been coy about the subject of using slaveboys for sexual release. But soon enough, men were just winking at each other and it was all understood. Some of our more enterprising local dads would bring their sons to the swimming pool in the Gaytown section of Capitol City. They would buy drinks for the gays and talk about when their sons would turn 17 and be legal for sale. Some would ask frankly about value assessments for their boys. For some families, the values of their progeny was so low, it just wasn't worth it to indenture those boys.

Then, after everyone had gotten used to the way things worked, the legislature revisited the Enslavement Laws about ten years later and changed them to the Indenture Laws – they determined that the word 'Indenture' had fewer negative connotations than enslavement. They wanted to make indenture a more attractive option for middle class families. Remember, if your son was convicted of a crime and sentenced to lifetime indenture, your family would be destitute because you would have to pay court expenses. But if you signed up your son for a voluntary indenture, you and your family could earn a lot of money.

At that time there was talk about expanding the laws to include indenture for those in debt. The way it worked in actuality was that families with debts would sell their sons into indenture. By the time the legislation passed, families didn't even need to be in debt – any father had the right to sell his son into voluntary indenture. (The boy may not have been volunteering, but the family was volunteering him on their behalf.) A family could profit handsomely from sending a good looking son into service for a five year contract, even more for a ten-year contract.

But after that went into effect, they found the young bucks being indentured were often malnourished, with poor hygiene, the offspring from the lowest rungs of society. There was still resistance from a lot of middle class families who feared that turning their sons into indentured servants would make them appear needy or desperate for money. The government's ad campaign was designed to combat those fears.

The advertisements originally featured the Nash family (though many other families have done testimonials since that time). They were real people who lived in one of our territory's largest cities, and they had a big, beautiful home, so clearly they had money. Mrs. Nash showed a picture of their older son, Alex, and told the camera what a bright and good looking boy he had been. Alex was one of the few in our part of the continent to be accepted into a college. But right before he was to start college, he got a younger girl pregnant. Premarital sex was a serious crime where we lived, and an 18-year-old boy having sex with a 16-year-old girl was a very serious offense. Of course Alex became an indentured servant. By the time the mother finished telling this story, she was on the verge of tears.

Then the father showed a picture of their second son, Billy, a very cute boy who'd just turned 17. He told how scared the family was for Billy after his older brother was enslaved. "How can you keep a boy safe during the dangerous years?" he asked the camera. Then some big doctor was on the screen explaining how the years from 16-24 were the most dangerous years, a time when boys took too many risks. He put it in all sorts of psychological and medical terms, but essentially it's the time in life when a guy is ruled more by his dick than by his brains.

Mr. Nash came back on the screen, his wife at his side, saying, "How can we protect our son during the dangerous years?" Then you see the younger son, Billy, come out in a slave collar and slave shorts, his wrists cuffed to the D-rings on his collar. His body was hairless and glistening. It's the same cute boy seen in the photograph at the beginning of the commercial, but now he was flanked by two heavy set middle aged men who smiled at the camera and said, "And he's been sold to us in Eureka."

Back to the Nashes and dad was clearly reading from a teleprompter saying, "It brings money into our home, gets young Billy started for his future, and it keeps Billy locked up and under control during these dangerous years." His wife waved a flag and added, "And it helps our economy." So now the government had made it clear that signing up your son for indenture was the patriotic thing to do. Families that had more than one son were encouraged to indenture one of them. A favorite phrase became, "Send the cute one to Eureka, so you can send the smart one to college."

The public caught on surprisingly fast. We are a confederation of nation-states here in the Great North Plains. Some have large land areas, but all have small populations and a lot of open space. Except for the industrial use slaves (as I said, the older, the uglier), there hadn't been a lot of personal service slaves where we lived. But they were becoming more commonplace. Of course any resort or hotel would be staffed by slaveboys. And of course these slaveboys were available for personal services with any hotel guest, for an additional hefty fee.

I visited my supermarket and they had switched to three new bagboys, each one stripped to slave collars and slave shorts. As you might expect, I recognized all three of these young bucks as my former students. I was most surprised to see Tommy, a redheaded boy who had been in my UMI class less than two years earlier. Tommy's father was manager of this supermarket.

The older man explained to me that the corporation that owned this chain of markets had given him funding to purchase three slaveboys as an experiment. He chose to purchase his own son with that corporate money. I quietly reminded him that the government was cracking down on 'sham enslavements', where a relative would take ownership of a slaveboy and let the young buck live a free life. The supermarket manager assured me that was not happening with Tommy. He confided in me that he himself had broken in his redheaded son for sex. Then he told me that all three of the bagboys were available for rental at night after the supermarket closed. He said that because I had done such a wonderful job preparing Tommy for his role as a slaveboy, he wanted me to have a freebie with the boy. I took him up on the offer and found that Tommy was an enthusiastic sex partner, eager to please.

Six months later, the supermarket chain decided they would maximize income from their slaveboy staff if they rotated the boys between stores. So Tommy and the others were shipped off to some other location, and our local market received three beauties from the Helena store. Although the manager offered me a free session with any of the new boys, I demurred.

While there were more slaveboys being used locally, the big money came in trading with the Gay State of Eureka. Eureka was a wealthy nation, where education and entrepreneurship were valued. And they were the ideal trading partner for our barren region. By that time, most of our natural resources had been sucked dry so the best money we could get was by exporting our good looking boys.

The message to moms and dads out there (but mostly to dads since we lived in a totally patriarchal country): After a five-year stint as a Personal Services Indentured Servant, your family will have enough money for a new car, your freed son will have enough money to go to school or start a business, and you will have contributed to the financial growth of the Great North Plains Federation of States. In short, we were all told to "Sell Your Sons to Contribute to the GNP."

We are the only high school in our nation-state, though there are smaller K-8 schools scattered about. There is one small college for four nation-states, and various trade schools. With so much land but so little population, some of our students board with local families during the week, and return to help on their family's property over the weekend. Since UMI class was held on Saturdays, these boys could only visit home on Sundays, so families were compensated with some money for their boy's time. It may seem altruistic on the part of our institute, but we want the parents to start thinking of their sons as something to be monetized.

That's now become a totally accepted idea: That your son is a commodity – a commodity that could be of profit to you as a parent. Also that there are people on the coasts of our country who might pay a lot of money (well, it was a lot of money in our local economy) for five years of using the boy. Or to put that in a way local dads liked to say to each other: The Sphincter is a Very Resilient Muscle.

On top of all that, your son will come back after the five years as a disciplined, focused young man with a fit well-muscled body, and an understanding of hard work. Of course, not all boys returned at the end of their five year indenture. Soon after the advertising campaign began, the father of our school's top jock sold his son as a slave in Eureka. The boy was proud of the sacrifice he was making for his family and community, and assured his friends he would see them in five years' time. But four years into the boy's term of service, the father had a stroke and was hospitalized. Since the father remained in a coma, the slaveboy's 20-year-old younger brother was in charge of the family. That former school jock became a lifetime indenture and never returned to our area.

Another story happened more recently and received a lot of press. One of our local boys from Eureka, who was at the end of his five year indenture, made a video at the instruction of his owner. The owner wanted this documentation about the boy's decision to remain an indentured servant for life. He wanted proof that the boy was not coerced into this decision. The boy explained to the camera that he had chosen not to return to the Great North Plains. He said he would rather live in Eureka as a slaveboy, than go back to our desolate countryside as a free man. At age 22, he was requesting lifetime indenture, and the profits from his sale would go to his family.

Although that boy spoke ill of our federation of states, the government promoted his video. It was in our interest to have good looking, athletic teenage boys willing to be enslaved for profit, and willing to be shipped off to an entirely gay nation where they would serve as pleasure slaves for the men. This boy in the video spoke glowingly of life in Eureka, the fresh food, the beautiful cities and lush parks. Many boys had less resistance to being enslaved that year due to this publicity.

The reason indenture advertisements were aimed at the parents was because, in our part of the continent, fathers still claimed ownership over their sons till the boys turned 21. Some boys could earn manhood earlier if they earned a certain amount of money. But there were few jobs where we lived, besides shoveling snow or dirt (a local joke). Boys 17-21 were a target for slavers.

Did I say that the institute that funds my Saturday program is the Institute for Slave Management (called ISM)? The idea was to teach teenage boys all about the slave processing, slave management, and slave training industries. They first tried instituting 'Indenture Education' into every grade level, but that failed. Eventually they settled on a plan to teach a special Saturday program to 15-year-old boys, and I've been head of that program in our school since it began.

UMI classes aren't designed for the brutish boys who will end up in a quarry or on a coffle, those boys will be whip-trained in chains. The classes I teach are for the boys who will end up in Personal Services, the boys with cute faces and hard bodies. The thing that every adult male knows (and undoubtedly quite a few teenaged boys know as well) is that Personal Services include sexual services. But that was never explicitly discussed. As a UMI teacher, you would divert questions from younger boys by saying something like, "Well, you may as well ask what if your owner wanted you to wash him in the shower? You may think that's icky, but as a slaveboy you must do what your owner commands." Most of our students were not great intellects, and this answer suited them.

When I was a guest speaker at a sixth grade classroom, a boy in the room asked the question, "When the gays in Eureka buy my brother will they put stuff up his butt?"

First, I admonished the boy and made clear that 'up his butt' was not appropriate classroom language. Then I asked the class who did the cleaning in their houses; the answer was always the mother or some woman. So I told the class that since the gays didn't have wives to cook and clean and do things for them, they used slaveboys instead. And since gays enjoyed looking at other males, they enjoyed having a good looking young buck to look at. These students were easily distracted because most of the boys in that class said they wanted to be slave cops, with the weapons and the tight, black uniforms. Many other boys would ask about the slave marketing or training industries. How well did you have to do in school to get a job? How much money would they make?

I'd always scan a class like that for potential. The boy who had asked the bold question came up to me afterwards and tried to apologize, looking down at his feet. He said he felt real bad after his brother left for indenture. I told him to buck up and assured him that his brother made a wise and patriotic choice. I took the boy's name and put it in my records. Sure enough, four years later he was in my Understanding Modern Indenture program.

A few years after that when I was taking my vacation in the Gay State of Eureka, I found that same boy in one of the finest boy brothels in Monterey. Because of my affiliation with ISM, and my role in identifying potential slaveboys for the industry, I always got free service at these places. But this was special. A full night with one of their hottest new commodities.

I actually had a romantic night with that boy. I snuggled him and smooched with him, while we played with each other's erections. Then, as I remember, his hard body made me feel especially passionate, I tossed him on the bed and fucked him hard and deep. I dripped sweat on him, holding him down under me. Damn. That's the same ass that once sat on a chair in my classroom. Now I was ramming that fine round butt until I collapsed on top of him, grunting and sweating like an animal. I made him lick up my sweat before I permitted him to wash me in the shower.

So I am an aficionado of the pleasures a slaveboy can offer. I've sampled those pleasures, always in a legal way (as with my visits to Eureka). While there is an element of eroticism in the UMI class setting, I would never break my oath as an educator. I will not have sex with any student. I would never break the law in that way. I can however strip, ogle, and feel up a good looking boy, all in the interest of his education.

The stated purpose of the Understanding Modern Indenture program is to give teenage boys a better understanding of the slave industry – an industry so vital to our economy. The true purpose was to prepare boys who were likely to be enslaved. The origins of this curriculum came after many of the straight teen boys who were first indentured in the early years put up too much resistance to their owners' demands. My class was set up to get those boys more open to the idea of serving as slaveboys, being humiliated, kept naked and being ordered around by an older man. As their teacher, that was my role.

Part of that understanding of the slave experience involves the boys emulating the lifestyle and activities of an indentured servant. This was initiated to help transition certain boys into the reality of what an indentured boy's life would be like – a bit sugarcoated and vague at times, but boys who went through UMI training had less than 25% of the discipline punishments of boys who went into enslavement raw.

The program was popular among the parents. Every parent had at least made inquiries into their son's merchandising potential, and what the family could do to raise their son's value on the market. But the idea of indenture wasn't ever popular with teenage boys. They didn't want to give up their freedom. They didn't want to do heavy labor. And most of them insisted they didn't want to do whatever it was those gays in Eureka would want them to do (which may well have been true for a few of them). There was no sex education in the Great North Plains. That was left to parents and church. And young people caught talking dirty or talking about sex with each other were severely punished.

However, Understanding Modern Indenture programs were different. We were in an enclosed space with these boys, introducing them to most aspects of a slaveboy's life. The boys would experience and observe nudity and erections. At the same time, parents were fighting to get their sons into the Understanding Modern Indenture program. It meant potential big bucks for them down the road. The men in our local Slave Traders' Association always took an interest in the selection of boys. Some contribute to my files. A man may tell me about a middle school boy he saw at a swim meet. I'll file the name and keep track as the lad edges toward UMI age.

The first day of class, I always let the boys stand outside the building waiting for me, even though they can see me at a distance. I want to see if any boy calls out to me or approaches me about getting into the building. Nobody came forward from this new class. They were at least clever enough not to trip up over the most obvious set up.

I strode forward between them and unlocked the door, but then I stood blocking the doorway. I looked over the group and then said, "Good morning, gentlemen. I appreciate you all being here. As you know, there will be sanctions against any family whose son does not complete this program." Then I quietly continued, "Before we enter this building and get on with our work, does anyone have any questions?"

The smart ass with the first question was Tino, a boy with a narrow face, sharp features, dark hair and dark eyes, half-Latino, half-Italian. He raised his hand right away and asked, "Sir, can you tell me why this group of guys was picked? Was it because we've got good bodies, so we'll fetch a good price as slaveboys?"

I smiled when I replied, "First, the word is not slaveboys, it is indentured servants or indentures." I paused and looked at the entire group gathered and said, "First I want to ask: How many of you have seen what slave cops look like and what their bodies are like? Most of you are athletes on different school sports. With a few more years of training, you could have bodies like those slave cops. How many of you want to be slave cops?" Of course there was a roar from the group of boys. All boys from a certain age onward dream of wearing the skin tight black uniforms, and having cool gadgets and hard muscles like slavecops. To tell the truth, my UMI class has produced a few slavecops over the years, but a much larger number of slaveboys.

But then, to win their trust, I was direct with the boys in my class: "Will some of you fine young bucks become slaveboys? Well, look at statistics. Likelihood is, even if this class didn't exist, 60 percent of the boys in this particular group would be indentured." The reason the percentage is so high for my particular program is that we've pre-selected boys who would bring in the highest prices on the market. Therefore these were the families who'd be most interested in striking a good deal for their young assets.

The next boy to speak was Chuck, a rambunctious boy with reddish-brown hair and a few freckles. He wore baggy clothes and didn't do sports, but you could just tell he was fit. He was a skateboarder and all the girls thought he was 'dreamy' in a brooding kind of way. "So, sir, are we gonna get 3;" Chuck was drown out by laughter around him. "I'm sorry, sir," Chuck said in an off-hand way. "I really wanna ask 3; are gays gonna do sex with us up the 3; um, up the rear end?"

I let the group of boys laugh itself out before they began coming to attention. I had my arms folded and remained silent, although smiling indulgently, and I waited till enough boys noticed to make the others take note and quiet down. When they were all still and attentive, I stepped forward and kept smiling as I said, "You may be wondering why your instructor for Understanding Modern Indenture, the man who will teach you the ins and outs of the indenture industry and take you through emulations of slave experiences 3; You may wonder why I am speaking to you in such a quiet, understanding voice. Well, out here I'm Mr. Handley and you are my students."

Then I stood to my full height and in a powerful voice I said, "But once you pass through this door, you are playing the role of slaveboys. You were given your rights and restrictions in the manual a month ago." (I knew full well none of my students' families read anything that was sent home.)

I rattled off a few of the more important restrictions on what we could do with the boys: They couldn't be kept naked. They could be seen, examined, or observed naked, but could not spend a day or a work session fully nude. Also, there would be no sex inside our program. I would clarify for the boys that 'Sex' is only sex if a penis goes into a warm orifice on the body of another, meaning a pussy of some kind. Y'know, the GOB Definition – Good Old Bill.

Boys who were selected for UMI class had to attend the program, though the parents were not obligated to sell their sons as slaveboys in the future. If a boy cuts class, the cops would come after him. If a boy leaves the program, the cops would come after the family.

That first morning I started off by speaking calmly and pleasantly to this group of fine young bucks, outside of our building. But I made clear that once the door was opened they would abide by the rules of their slave-trainee contracts, signed by their fathers. Those rules meant that the boy could be spoken to, used and treated as a slaveboy, within certain restrictions set forth by the state. As far as I know, no boy has lost his butt cherry while in my program.

I opened the door and roared, "Get your asses in there and line up on the long yellow line, toes on the line, legs shoulder-width, hands held behind your backs. And you will be looking down at the floor? Am I understood." There was a jumble of, "Sir, yes sir," in reply.

I entered and saw the line up of boys in their shabby looking clothes, ill-fitting jeans, sloppy t-shirts on their unwashed bodies. None of them were standing up straight and a few of them weren't even toes on the line. I came in and walked up and down along the line of boys and began shouting at them about punishment for the entire group because not all of them could work together to fulfill their Boss's request.

I should clarify. Once inside the building I was addressed as 'Boss'. I wasn't permitted to call the boys 'Slaves', so it was agreed they'd be called 'Boy', so my class included BoyConnor, BoyChuck, BoyTino and more. I nodded my head toward mesh bags in front of each of them and I said, "Each one of you will strip down to your underpants. Nothing else but underpants. I don't care if that's a jockstrap or swimsuit or briefs or boxers or a mix of them all." I stopped short when one boy reached for the hem of his T-shirt. I glared at him as I snapped, "You were not told to strip down yet, boy. You do what the boss tells you and not whatever the hell you feel like doing, whenever the hell you feel like doing it."

"Sorry, sir," the boy said, looking down meekly at the floor as he took a step backwards.

"Now, strip down, boys," As I announced that I punched a clock that started up smaller clocks on the long table in front of these boys. "You have one minute to complete stripping down to underpants and putting all your clothing including shoes into these bags. These clocks will keep track of how many seconds you go beyond that allotted minute." They were already frantically tugging off clothes, bumping into each other, a few of them falling over. Only six of the 18 boys in the room finished on time. I grinned and reminded them that I had a record of the number of seconds it took each of them to strip and they would be made to pay.

Stripped to underpants, these high school boys looked just as ragged. On some of these boys, I had already seen a strip of their underwear waistband above their sagging jeans. On others I had just guessed what was under their jeans. Chuck, who wore loose-fitting clothes was wearing the baggiest boxers. I only saw two boys in the room wearing white briefs, one of them was Lars, the slender lemon blond boy. Connor, our JV football captain, was in black boxer-briefs with a white waistband. Seeing this young athlete dressed like that fulfilled so many masturbatory fantasies I'd had. His chest was so perfectly defined, his arms had finely formed muscles, not yet over muscled. As a freshmen, he had been taller than all the other boys, he was also the most athletic big guy at the school. I'd seen Collin's ass in football pants, and his shoulders and legs in his track uniform, but seeing this boy in such tight black underpants gave my dick a jolt.

I began lecturing the boys: Many years ago, when the UMI program was started, boys were given slave shorts. Parents were upset. Part of my program has these trainee boys do projects in the town, laboring in public, and parents didn't want their free boy sons to be seen publicly in slave shorts. Of course slaveboys being kept naked is totally acceptable in the community. But these were students, not slaveboys. We couldn't have the free boys of a town going around naked on Saturdays. And yet these boys were supposed to be experiencing some of the embarrassment and humiliation in being a slaveboy.

Early on in the program, I suggested we have boys wear only their own underpants in UMI class. We wanted the boys to learn humility in public, and this seemed a fair option. That was at a time when all boys at the school wore the same brand of white briefs, before we got the variety we have now. But in recent years, boys started buying nicer-looking boxer shorts, or wearing their dad's big ones, to cover up in UMI class. So all boys were now given white briefs to wear in class, a style associated with younger boys, and always a size too small.

I handed out appropriate underpants to each boy and watched as they stripped down and pulled up the briefs. Some boys were cautious and tried to do it quickly. Some boys tried to keep their free hand over their dicks, while others would turn their backs and show off their naked butts to me. One boy who tried to do that tipped over and was sprawled out revealing his thin erection to everyone.

I blew a whistle and the boys were back in order, standing up straight, looking like gifts, each wrapped in tight white cotton. "Slave Display Position," I shouted like a drill sergeant. Most of the boys did quite well. These are some of the things boys do in schoolyard games from a young age. Only three boys needed to be corrected on their form. So I ordered the three boys to come up front and bend over the table that ran the length of the room in front of the boys.

With these three nervous boys bent over, I pulled down the backs of each of their briefs. A normal group of teen boys would hoot and laugh when their classmate's butts are revealed. But these boys had already learned that I was not playing. The boys saw that I had a bucket of rolled up newspapers. I lifted the first in the air for the boys to behold. It didn't look very impressive, and certainly not threatening.

"According to the law, I can only use a paddle or a lash for designated offenses, and I must keep track of those punishable offenses. But I can always give hand spanks or thrashing with a rolled up newspaper." I swatted the air with the rolled up newspaper for the group of boys to observe. Then I held it high in the air and smacked it hard over the first boy's upturned butt. The boy cried out in pain. Of course I had frozen the paper at the center of each so there was some heft to these makeshift paddles. It smacked hard wherever it hit. I had to take a new newspaper after every three smacks, because the pages would shred from the force.

Then I lined up all the boys facing the table and ordered all of them to bend over and pull down the backs of their white briefs. I walked along the line of boys. Then I consulted my list, "Lars?" I called out almost as a question. The slim boy with lemon blond hair came forward. His body was too thin for my tastes, but very nicely defined. There was a lot of potential profit in someone buying Lars at a bargain rate, building up his chest and muscles, and then re-selling him at a high profit. This boy had great potential as a pleasure slave.

"Lars, it took you the longest to get undressed and put your clothes away. It was an extra 55 seconds, boy."

He began, "Yes, but I had on these boots that 3;"

"Silence," I snapped, slapping him hard across the face. There was an audible gasp in the room. Without looking away from Lars, I spoke to the other boys, "Yes, I am permitted to do that also. The rules say I can punish you physically using my hands. That was certainly within the rules."

Directing myself back to the boy in front of me, "Do you want to guess what your punishment will be today, Lars?"

He was looking down at the floor, tears almost coming to his eyes as he said, "Y-you're going to give me 55 whacks on my behind, sir?"

I laughed and said, "What nonsense, boy. You're the one who'll be handing out those 55 smacks to these other boys. What's it to be, boy? Do you have a grudge against some boy in this class? Wanna give him the full 55? Or maybe split it between three or four boys."

He thought then calmly said, "I will give one each to each of the other guys 3; sir."

He swatted the first butt in line in a very lackluster way. There was no energy in his arm. Then he was doing the same to the second boy in line. "I won't put up with this charade, boy. For each boy you don't really smack, I will replace your one whack with one from me. And trust me boy, I can hit much harder." I aimed the rolled up newspaper toward the first boy's ass, raised it up in the air, and let it down with a loud whooshing sound. The boy underneath me nearly jumped in the air and shrieked. I paid no attention to him, instead turning to Lars and saying, "You will smack each boy on the butt with all the strength you can. Do you understand me, boy? Otherwise I'll replace your smacks with mine." I also pointed out that rather than Lars going down the line repeatedly, he could give each boy three smacks and move on to the next.

The hour wore on and the boys lost trust in each other. The next boy up was Tino, who said that he had to be faithful to his pals on the wrestling team and the baseball team. He called for them to stick together, then paddled only football and basketball players. That wasn't a wise thing to do. The next boy up was a football player and he got revenge, especially against Tino. Chuck, who wasn't on any sports team, just handed out smacks indiscriminately, laughing as he did so. A lot of boys wanted revenge on Chuck for that laughter, also because he didn't have allegiance to any sports team. By the end, all the boys were lined up in slave display position, their sore bottoms covered in white fabric. This building was in the middle of a large clearing in the woods. I ordered the boys to run around the clearing five times. I had measured the distance and it was optimal. I sat back to watch them and to consider their potential.

For the second UMI class session, the boys are told to be prepared to get wet, so all of them showed up in sweats or shorts, with their usual T-shirts. They didn't need any of these clothes. I simply ordered the boys back into their tight white briefs. They did a much better job of standing at attention. I counted down the line and assigned each boy a number. Then I told them I would randomly select numbers. That wasn't true. I'm a genius with numbers and matched the pairs as I wanted them arranged. Sometimes two friends were together. Sometimes a boy was paired with someone who was his opposite.

I then instructed the boys to line up, each facing his partner. I instructed the ones with higher numbers to stand against the wall. I then told the boys against the wall that they would be serving their teammates. You can imaging how the boys reacted to the word 'Serving'.

I then clarified that the boys who would be serving, would be shaving and taking care of the bathing needs of their teammates. There was a stillness in the room when I explained this. Some of the boys had experience with older brothers who had been through UMI and had their body hair shaved, some other boys seemed alarmed. The boys were showered by their partners, then had the hair on their bodies lathered up. Of course all the boys needed shaving around the base of their dicks. And of course every boy got an erection when this was occurring, with all the other boys watching and touching.

It gave me a perfect opportunity to tell the boys not to be embarrassed about being naked or showing an erection, "It's natural when you are in service." For the first shaving, I went to each group of boys and took the razor. I demonstrated to the dry boy what was involved with shaving pubes without nicking a penis. Of course I had my free hand touching each of the boys' nice boners. Some were surprisingly long and thick, others were cute but neither long nor thick. That was OK. There's room for all tastes in the world, as well as in a slave auction hall.

After that the boys had to learn to administer enemas to each other. One boy complained that he'd had a big bowel movement that morning and didn't have enough to give. I gave him time and he fulfilled the requirement. I told them that the following week they would be administering enemas to themselves. I also told them they would be responsible for keeping their bodies cleanly shaved and washed. I warned that their bodies would be examined in careful detail every Saturday morning. Boys would be punished for any hair found below the eyebrows.

The following week when the boys arrived for class, I introduced them to our guest. McGhee was a large man, known in the slave trade across the territory. He had the biggest business in exporting boys to Eureka. It is generous of him to come to my class and share his knowledge. But I know he's actually there scouting for boys to sell in another two years. He also kept a file and knew the dates when certain boys would be turning 17. "We wanna get them fresh," McGhee would always say. He was aggressive about his business, and he had a discerning eye.

Of course his eyes immediately fell on Connor. So I did a trick I've done before. I printed out each of the boys' names on a label. I showed them the labels as I tossed them into a dark hat. I then pretended to fish around in the hat, knowing I had pocketed the selected card in the brim of the hat. I held it up and it said, "Connor."

I ushered Connor up to the podium and told the students, "Connor is going to be our model today." I looked around and said, "I hope you boys noticed how random that was. It's like that in the indenture industry. You might be the fifth boy in line. Will that mean you're heading to something good? Or something bad?" There was a nervous chuckle among the group.

McGhee helped fasten leather cuffs on Connor's wrists, then he lifted up the boy's arms and attached the cuffs to the boy's collar on each side. I turned to the class and said, "No matter how tame a slaveboy is, there may be some things in the examination, cleaning or medical procedure that startle or disturb the boy. So it's safest to put the slaveboy in a position like this." My hands were all over Connor's hard muscles. McGhee came over and examined each of Connor's fully-exposed underarms. The right one was OK, but McGhee said he found two pin hairs in the left armpit. He plucked them out as the boy winced.

Then McGhee was on his knees examining the football player's legs, before turning his attention to the boy's tender balls and dick. Of course, Connor had his eyes closed and his body was shaking from nerves. I broke the silence to say, "I have made clear that we strictly follow the state rules here. This boy's mouth and his anus will not be penetrated while he's in this program." McGhee gave me a dirty look, like he thought I was directing that reminder at him. Of course he was right. I knew McGhee was horny and also unscrupulous.

The slave trader still had his hands all over Connor, testing the strength in the boy's legs – he told me later he thought Connor could grow to become a valuable pony slave, running his master's private trap into town. A few of the richest men in our region used boys that way. This boy was certainly a trophy and he would undoubtedly go for a high price. McGhee's finger went roughly up Connor's asshole and the boy gasped. Then the slave trader held up his finger, grinned and said, "Totally clean." He then put his finger to Connor's lips. Connor tried to turn away and McGhee snapped, "You're the one responsible for cleaning out your ass, boy. Are you telling me that you didn't clean it out well enough, so you'r not willing to lick my finger now? Should I punish you for not being clean, boy?"

Connor softly said, "No, no, sir," came closer and licked the big slavetrader's finger. The look on McGhee's face told me that little power play brought him close to shooting off in his pants. Connor just looked confused and a little bit scared. McGhee went on, "He's new to all this. The boy deserves our understanding." There was a look of relief on Connor's face, but then the older man went on, "So he should only get ten swats for being uncooperative with a master."

I turned to Connor and said, "Bend over, boy," the way I might give a command to a dog. Connor bent over and I peeled down the white briefs in back, revealing a perfect bubble butt. It was smaller than I would have expected on a boy of his size, but that's what made it even hotter. I rubbed the strands of the tawse across the boy's smooth backside. I saw goosebumps pop up and saw the boy shiver. Then I swatted three times across his buttcheeks. The boy groaned and shuddered. "This is a swat, boy. Beating you with a paddle would be a whack." I went on to give Connor another seven blows to his white round ass. His face was scrunched up at the end like he was trying very hard not to cry.

Afterwards I couldn't find McGhee. It turns out he had gone back to my office and closed himself in so he could have a good jack off session. Like me, he's a professional and knows he won't get actual oral or anal sex from these boys, but the turn-on factor in that room was enormous. McGhee took me out for a steak and lobster dinner that night. He enjoyed my class very much and he'd made notes on most of the boys.

He agreed that I had a good group this year. Some of the boys would bring high prices and would end up with high end owners somewhere on one of the coasts. Those boys would bring profits into the pockets of the indenture agent, the government, the boy's family, and the boy. There were other boys he thought were less desirable. But he said even those boys would probably be purchased as household slaves for some middle class family or some middle class single man. If it was with a family, the husband would secretly go down to the slave quarters and sodomize his slaveboy at night. If it was a single man, the slave would simply be fucked on the owner's bed night or day. Everyone knows that personal services means a slaveboy will have to do house chores and cleaning, but he would also be used as a pleasure slave.

Except we were not permitted to say that to the students. In front of the entire class, Chuck stomped his feet and insisted, "Why won't you answer the question? Are we gonna havta take y'know 3; umm penises 3; up our 3; y'know, rear ends?" He was trying to choose words that did not offend the school's language policy.

I sat down and spoke seriously. "Let's say you're a slaveboy for a big businessman. He works very long days, his body is sore when he gets home. Of course he'd want you to bring him food, maybe another drink. You would know what your master desires. If your master feels sweaty, of course you will help him to shower. That means getting into the shower with him. What if he wants to have you soap up his big hairy middle-aged body? Well, it wouldn't appeal to you. It wouldn't be like feeling up Cindy Lou naked in a shower. But you're a slaveboy, you're there to do what your master asks."

"Sir," Chuck insisted. "If I'm down there having washed my owner's junk, what if he ordered me to rub it with my hand? What if he ordered me to rub him until he shot off? What if he ordered me to take his thing in my mouth, sir?"

The room was too silent. I told them a heartfelt story about Italy during WWII. As the Allied Troops marched up the peninsula, the American G.I.s were horny for girls. In the Italian culture, a girl's virginity was sacred. Nobody would marry a girl who had lost her virginity, even if she had been forced. So Italian teenage boys did something very brave. They went and offered their butts to the American G.I.s for money. This money sustained their families and allowed their sisters to stay virgins, get married and have families. I brought the story to a rising crescendo.

Then I asked the silent room, "How many of you think those boys in Italy were heroes?"

They all agreed that the Italian boys had done something brave. I had planted an idea for them to think about. I hadn't told the boys they would be sodomized up the rear in slavery. But I hadn't told them that it wouldn't happen. And I glorified the memory of other teenage boys who saved their society by sacrificing their tender teenage butts.

As the semester proceeded I usually had one or two or even three other men there to assist me. Of course there were my friends in the slave management and training business. But there were also some fathers who were curious to see what their sons were experiencing. All these men tended to remain erect through most of their time visiting our class. They understood the rule about no sex with my students. But of course part of UMI curriculum teaches boys to masturbate another male's penis. I had the boys practice on each other. But these visitors to our class – slave trainers or dads or just friendly citizens – provided thick, hairy cocks for my students to practice on.

I brought in other special guests. These were always dealers in the slave industry who were doing me a favor, but also checking out the merchandise. And some were public officials who were signing my permits in exchange for two hours with one or two of my boys. They knew the rules. Everything that they did with students was videotaped, and they knew I'd prosecute them if they tried having actual sex with one of my students. The president of our school board liked to have one of our boys blindfolded and hog-tied, then would rub his dick on the nearly-naked boy's body until he shot his load. That's not the same as doing real sex to the boy.

On a particular week I let the boys get a little unruly. That gave me the excuse to lock them all in cock cages. These plastic devices with metal reinforcement would permit them to pee freely, but their dicks could not get fully erect and they certainly couldn't jerk off. I told the boys the cock cages would remain until they came to class the following week. I knew what torture it would be for 15-year-olds, spending an entire week without touching their dicks. When they arrived that next week, they were the most obedient and obsequious I had ever seen them. They were begging to have the cock cages removed. I told them to dress in their free boy underpants and line up in front of our truck. Once there, I unlocked each cock cage and then chained each boy in place in the back of our truck.

I knew that their dicks would all immediately go erect after a week in the cock cage. All of them had hands cuffed behind them so they couldn't touch their own erections. I drove to our scheduled destination in the Gaytown section of Capitol City and unloaded the boys in a local park. The neighborhood gays were expecting us and there was quite a crowd present to greet the boys. I looked over my students, each boy in his own underpants. Collin had tried to keep his P.E. shorts on, but I insisted that the jockstrap underneath was his real underwear, so he had his ass completely displayed on the main street of Gaytown. Chuck's baggy boxers that day were sea blue with vintage-style artwork of beach umbrellas and palm trees, Lars was in his white briefs, and various boys were in different colors of boxer briefs.

The gays were enjoying the display of erections in free boy underpants. Some of the gays watching were openly rubbing their boners in the front of their own pants. I split my class into three groups. I had two slave trader buddies helping me out that day. We each chained our line of boys together by their collars, hands behind their backs. I stood on the bed of the truck and announced to my boys (knowing the lurking gays were also hearing), "You boys are not slaveboys. We will not permit anyone to treat you as they would a slaveboy. However, you are trainee boys. Therefore you are treated as potential slaveboys or slaveboys-to-be ‘on the calendar' as the saying goes. Passersby can stop you and, if your master approves, they can examine you. After all, given the high likelihood that you boys will be indentured in the next few years, everyone on this street is a potential purchaser." There was a roar or approval from the gays.

Because of their age and status, the boys could not be examined nude, so their underpants had to be kept in place. However, interested parties were allowed to pull away the front of a boy's underwear to look at the dicks and balls stored away there. Passersby could also reach down into the back to feel a boy's ass cheeks in his underpants.

I paraded my boys down the main street of Gaytown and watched as various men pulled on the boys' nipples, slapped their butts, and felt them up in very lascivious ways. One heavyset hairy man in leather had his hand down the back of Chuck's boxers, fondling the boy's bottom, while a man of equal size was tickling the boy's nipples. I saw a bounce in the teenage boy's boxers and then I watched as a stain appeared and spread on the cheerful print. Chuck grunted and bent over. Then he immediately looked up at me and said, "S-sorry, sir." Not only was there a flood of jism on the front left side of his brightly colored underpants, the cream was dripping down his leg. Because the boy's hands were cuffed behind his back, he couldn't do anything to rearrange his penis which was now caught up in the overly-wet fabric.

I directed him to a short wall and leaned him over it. I pulled down just the back of his boxers and smacked his smooth white ass cheeks five times. I was startled that after I planted the fifth loud whack, there was a load of cum that splashed on Chuck's reddened butt. I turned and saw that the same big hairy man in leather who had been toying with Chuck's butt cheeks was now pumping the last drops of his own explosive cum onto Chuck's backside. I pulled the teen's boxer shorts into place, soaking up the stranger's spunk as I did. Now the boy was wet front and back and blushing deeply as we proceeded down the street. The man who had cum on Chuck handed me his card and asked me to notify him when the boy would be available for purchase.

I invited a few special guests to the class session where boys were required to masturbate each other. Once again I put the boys into teams of two. I wanted each boy to learn to be sensitive to what another male wanted. First I would seat the dickboy, who had his hands cuffed behind his back, next to the handler. Then I would ask the handler to play with dickboy's penis exactly the way he liked his own penis played with. If dickboy complained that his skin was being pulled too hard or that he didn't like his balls played with, he was to be ignored. Each boy had to reveal truthfully what other parts of their body they touched when they masturbated – did they play with their holes or rub their nipples?

Then the boy doing the masturbating had to stop doing what he wanted and start listening to instructions from dickboy. In order to succeed, the handler had to do as instructed and make the other boy shoot his load. The men watching were definitely enjoying it more than the boys. I explained to the boys that slaves often were not allowed to masturbate themselves and had to depend on another slave or free man to do it for them. And that sometimes they might be asked to take care of a free man's penis in this way, and they needed to learn how to please each individual man.

My guests never got bored through all the group presentations. These men had flown in from Eureka. Of course that meant they were gays, but they weren't the obvious kind. They weren't wearing anything sparkly. Even though I'm a teacher, there's a lot I can be naive about. On that visit I joined these guests for a visit to a club in the gay district of our Capitol City. Gays are not discriminated against where I live. They are offered a free ticket to the Gay State of Eureka, or else they can move into the Gaytown slum in our major city. At the club I saw men grinding together and performing every imaginable sex act. I told my Eureka visitors that I needed to leave. I explained, "It's one thing to see men doing all that to a slaveboy. That seems natural to me. But to see two free men going at it like this just feels wrong."

So they took me downstairs to a club they said was more exclusive. I could hardly believe what I saw! There were seven nearly-nude boys dancing in cages above the crowd, and three of them were my former UMI students. They were all 18 and 19 at the time so they had been in my class three or four years earlier, but I remembered them well. The Eureka visitors offered to pay for me to enjoy a night with one of these boys, but I felt they should enjoy the pleasures of our territory while they were visiting. I insisted that they use my three former students that night.

Toward the end of the school year I got a few pieces of surprising news. First, the gay state of Eureka lowered their age of full indenture to 15. Since they did that on a Friday I knew that by the following Monday our legislature would match that legislation. That would mean the boys in my class were ripe for enslavement. Having just changed the laws as they did, there would be a great demand for 15-year-old slaveboys in Eureka.

I called certain parents and asked them to meet with me quickly. The next day was Saturday and I had my UMI class. I managed to get the necessary paperwork in order. With my connections to the slave trading industry, I was able to get the space and mobility I would need.

The next day's UMI class was typical. I knew that none of these boys followed actual news or knew anything about civics. Even their parents had been ignorant about the change in law that made their sons immediately eligible for enslavement. The boys in my class were all used to our routine by this point. But for a few of them today would end differently.

Boys were examined for hair on their bodies, given a lesson on performing cunnilingus (using a plastic model), and sent out to a local park to do gardening in their underpants. People were used to seeing this year's UMI boys working in white briefs in the park, but it was always announced and still drew a crowd, especially middle school boys who liked to mock the high school sophomores. Of course there were also the school rivals, gloating at seeing these boys stripped and embarrassed like this, but also scared the same could happen to them. And there were the men in the crowd, some who appeared to just happen by and stop to look for a few minutes. When certain of these boys come on the auction block, those same men will be there watching and sometimes bidding.

When I packed the boys into our truck (and I do mean 'packed' like luggage) and drove back to our small building, I dismissed most of the boys but kept four back: Connor, Chuck, Lars and Tino. I showed them forms I had gotten signed by their parents and I explained that they would be taken for a much more intense training, taken to a place where we were permitted to do more to their bodies.

Three men came in who had all met the boys in the past. It was McGhee and two other slave industry specialists who had visited the class before. Now each of us took one boy and methodically gagged him, blindfolded him, cuffed and shackled him. We placed each of our boys into his own cage and took those cages out to the back of a van.

In a commanding voice, I announced, "OK, this is for the four boys: Connor, Chuck, Lars and Tino. You are property now. Do you understand me, boys? You are nothing more than slaveboys now." As far as I was concerned, I had dutifully informed these boys that they were now enslaved. Of course, reading the articles of indenture is considered standard. But I knew what I had announced would hold up in court.

The van was well set up. The air conditioning worked well. Also there was a mister that sprayed refreshing water across all four of the cages in the back, helping to cool our merchandise. We didn't mean to pamper our new slaveboys, but we wanted them looking their best on the auction block.

We arrived at the border where the Great North Plains Federation comes up against the outskirts of the Gay State of Eureka. There's a town there called Winnemucca that is known for its slave auctions. Because of where the town is situated, anytime someone is trying to get a boy out of GNP Territory to sell him in Eureka, this is the easiest point for them to reach. Nobody on the GNP side of the border cared that we were taking these boys out to sell them. They knew that the boy trade kept our economy going. And the only thing the guards cared about in Eureka was how cute the boys were that we planned to sell. When we explained about the ages of these boys and the circumstances, the guards laughed and said they would come to the auction the following Monday.

You see, it was legal on that day to sell a 15-year-old boy in Eureka. But it wasn't legal yet to indenture a 15-year-old boy in the Great North Plains. We would have to wait on that till our legislature met on Monday. Meanwhile, we unpacked our four UMI students in the back of the large slave mall in Winnemucca, Eureka. They were wearing their white briefs, instead of slave shorts. Their hands remained cuffed behind their backs. Their collars were bright green, differentiating them from the real slaveboys who wore metal collars.

These four boys were among the boldest back at our school. But here they moved slowly, their eyes darting everywhere. All four of them were uneasy. Meanwhile, they drew interest from everyone we passed.

Dressed in their white briefs and green collars, my students watched real slaveboys being processed. They observed from overhead as straight boys were stripped to underpants. Then watched those boys get on a treadmill that took them through various stations. They watched as each new slave's essential information was taken and a series of inoculations were given. The boys on the treadmill stopped at a station where they were dipped in a depilatory cream removing all hair below their eyebrows. After that the new slaves being processed received enemas. All my boys were already familiar with this from my class.

But before we left that station, the manager there stopped our little tour group. I explained that these boys were in my Understanding Modern Indenture class, and that they were trainees and not full-fledged slaves. He looked at me in a meaningful way and said, "15 are they?" When I told him they were, he insisted that I pull down the backs of the boys' briefs and give him a feel of their asses. He moaned as he fondled. I saw Tino squirming like he wanted to pull away. I warned, "Tino, a boy doesn't pull away when a free man is examining him." The man smiled at me and said, "Can't wait to get them here."

All the boys looked at me and asked what the man meant. I told them to focus on the tour. We watched the newly enslaved boys on the treadmill receive their permanent metal collars, and we saw them get their slave ID numbers (SINs) tattooed on their left collarbone and their right hip. (With so many five-year-indentures, they've devised tattoos that begin to fade after four-and-a-half years, and are easily removed at the end of five.) But when the tour was over, I found myself in the locker room reserved for my boys. They stood respectfully around me and Connor asked softly, "Tell us the truth, sir. Are we slaves now?"

I told them all about Eureka changing their laws to allow for the sale of 15-year-old boys as full service slaves. I told the boys that by Monday our Great North Plains legislature was expected to follow suit. Then all four of them would be sold in the Winnemucca Slaveboy Auction. That quieted them down for a long while. I then tried to take a more upbeat approach. I told them they were all expecting to be indentured in another two years anyway. "This way you boys will get it over with. You'll complete your five years of indenture by the time you're 20. I think that's a great deal for you."

Lars agreed with me and encouraged the other boys. He always helped try to keep spirits up. I then went on to tell the boys that, since the law had just then passed, there were virtually no 15-year-boys on the market yet. The group of them would be highly valued because 15-year-old slaveboys were still so rare. "I've told you boys before: If a man buys the most expensive automobile, he's not going to leave it out in the rain or park it where it'll get scratched and dented, right? Well, you are going to be some very high-priced goods when they auction you off. You will be highly treasured by your new owners, boys. That's a great way to start off."

Now, I don't know if you would say it was the boys' natural exuberance, or if it was just that these boys were all a little dense, but they started to cheer and congratulate themselves. Yes, they would be sold at auction the following day. But they would be purchased by very rich men who would value them highly. They spent that night in cages in the back of the Slave Mall, surrounded by other nearly-nude slaves. My boys knew their fate was sealed.

Monday night I was backstage preparing my boys for auction. They were already tattooed and collared, each dressed in their own free boy underpants. It was a tradition in Winnemucca. They liked to announce, "Straight teen boys in their free boy underpants." Connor was in his black boxer briefs, Tino was wearing grey briefs, Chuck was in baggy plaid boxers, and Lars in his own tighty whities.

Before the boys were sent out to the stage, the head of the Institute for Slave Management came up to congratulate me. He took me aside for a private conversation and told me how valued I was as an educator, and how grateful the slave industry was for my many contributions. (I laughed inside. My 'contributions' had been teen boys they could sell.) Then he said he heard I was going to retire. I assured him that was correct. I was getting tired of teaching and felt I was just spinning my wheels.

When I started explaining my reasons for retirement, the man interrupted and said, "We could make it very attractive for you to stay."

I stopped in my tracks. I had to ask, "How?"

The man said, "You'll keep your full salary but only teach the Saturday class. You won't have to teach any classes during the week."

"Hmmmphh," I laughed. "I should have demanded that about ten years ago." Then I asked, "Why is it so important to you that I continue teaching Understanding Modern Indenture?"

"Don't you get it?" he asked. "When the age of indenture was 17, you taught Understanding Modern Indenture to 15-year-olds so they'd he prepared. Now we need to move the curriculum down from the 10th to the 8th grade. Now that 15-year-olds can be enslaved, we need you to start teaching UMI to 13-year-olds." I looked at him, surprised, but of course I should have already figured on this. He went on, "And for the next year we will need extra instructors to do 8th and 9th, as well as your traditional 10th grade class. We will need you to supervise the other teachers and help with their curriculum."

I looked at him with a scowl. "So you want to give me more responsibility, and more management duties, and say that I'm fully compensated getting my old teacher's salary? What nonsense!"

"Wait! Wait!" he said excitedly. "We will give you a bonus for signing up for another three years as UMI teacher and to train the new teachers."

He pointed to the line of four of my students chained to their frames. Each one was about to be wheeled out onstage for bidding to begin. I knew that even with my savings, I'd never have enough cash to buy a beautiful, fresh 15-year-old slaveboy like any of these. I was confused and looked to the man. He said, "Pick one of them. If you sign up for three years, we will buy one of these boys for you as your bonus."

I looked over the four boys on display. Connor was the big school jock, his chest and shoulders already mature for his age; everything was well-developed on this boy, and I remembered the advice that he would make a fine pony slave in the future. Lars was almost wispy, so blond and slim. I thought maybe I should take him because I feared how he would handle having a rough owner. Then there was Tino, such a wise ass, but such defined, hard muscles, an 8-pack stomach. And finally there was Chuck, the skateboarder who didn't play sports. I looked at him and thought to myself that he was at a perfect in-between age. I imagined that three years earlier, he was an adorable freckle-faced little kid with a button nose. Three years in the future, Chuck would be a skateboarding party dude who'd be perfectly at home in any frat house.

I turned to the man who had made the offer and said, "If only I knew what sort of owners the other three boys will get."

"Oh, that's no mystery," he said. "The largest boy brothel in Monterey is going to take them. You know they can afford to outbid anyone else. They also have the resources to monetize this sort of merchandise. You know that next Saturday night there will be a big auction and all three of these boys' cherries will be up for bid." Yes, of course, how could I be so ignorant not to realize that.

I turned to him and made a snap decision. "I'll take Chuck. And I will take him as guarantee that I'll remain for one year. If you want me to sign up for another year after that, you may have to offer me another bonus."

The auction house staff put a leash on Chuck's collar, his hands still cuffed behind him and his feet connected by a short chain. I led him away and he looked back over his shoulder. "Sir," he asked, "Wh-what just happened, sir? Why are you taking me and the other boys are being sent out to the stage and 3;" I touched an electric slave prod to the boy's exposed left nipple and he was soon writhing on the ground. I grabbed him by his collar and lifted him up to face me as I snarled, "Fucking slaveboy! You will only speak when spoken to."

Chuck looked down and trembled as he said, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

I stuffed Chuck into a small cage that was provided by the good people at the auction mall, and placed the cage in the trunk of my car. It was a struggle getting the cage into my house without any help. Chuck is a big boy, taller than me. I released Chuck but had to help him up since he still wore the handcuffs. I then proceeded to really examine him, not the polite way we examined boys in the UMI class, but the way an owner examines a new hunk of slaveflesh. I felt and kneaded all his muscles, spent a lot of time squeezing, pinching, then fingering his ass.

I pushed two of my fingers into Chuck's mouth and ordered him to get them wet, with a lot of spit. I then proceeded to work one, then the other finger, into the new slaveboy's virgin butthole. My tongue was in his ear as I grunted, "I have a long, thick cock, boy. And you know where I'm going to put that fat cock, don't you, Chuckie?"

The youth shuddered and whimpered, and my cock leaked in my pants. For so many years I had dreamed about doing this to any number of my students. I had jerked off thinking about it. But of course I always followed the law and never acted on my fantasies. The boys in UMI class were 15, and legal age for indenture had been 17. As appealing as these young bucks might be, I would have to wait at least two years before getting at any of them – and then only for an hour at a time as a guest of their eventual owners.

But suddenly the law was changed. Here was a 15-year-old boy who had been in my class just a few days earlier. Now he was turned into my slaveboy, collared, cuffed, and stripped to his boxer shorts. I undid his handcuffs, then pushed the youth to the couch and clambered on top of him. I was kissing him deep and wet, my tongue exploring his entire mouth. Then I moved down and sucked a bit of his neck between my lips. I chuckled and said, "I know your girlfriend always gave you hickies, boy. Now you'll have to get your hickies from an old homo."

I then proceeded down to Chuck's smooth chest. I licked and then sucked each of his nipples. One hand was wrapped around the boy's middle, my fingers sticking down into the back of his boxer shorts. My hand was outlining each of his ass cheeks. In between kisses, I told my new slave, "Way back when you wore those baggy pants, I always felt certain you had a beautiful little ass. And Indeed I was right. Each cheek is so round, so firm, the skin so soft. And I was pleasantly surprised that I didn't even have to shave your butt, slaveboy. It was already hairless."

I reached inside the front of the teenager's boxer shorts and pulled out his cock. I licked at the head and he shuddered with pleasure. Then I wrapped my lips around his stiff rod and sucked on it. He moaned and put his hands on my head. But then I pulled off his cock, looked him in the face, and pushed him to his knees in front of the couch.

My stiff prick was sticking up out of my pants. I caressed Chuck's face as I lightly stroked my erection. Then I was rubbing my hard-on against the boy's lips. "C'mon, kid. I'm leaving pre-cum on your lips. You need to lick it off like a good boy."

Reluctantly, his tongue came out and licked the coating of cream from his lips. "Now lick the head of it. Lick all the wet stuff off your owner's big cock." Chuck paused and then opened his mouth to take my flared cockhead between his lips. He gagged even though there was hardly any dick in his mouth. I brushed his hair tenderly and slowly started moving my hips backwards and forward.

He would need a lot more training to perform a really good blow job, but I almost came just looking down at his adorable face. He was an all-American boy, a few freckles across his turned up nose, his auburn hair swept back from his face. I had jerked off dreaming about this particular boy ever since he arrived at my school. And now I was seeing that face with his lips distorted, stretched wide to go around my thick stiff cock.

I pulled out of his mouth. This was my first night possessing this beautiful slaveboy, and this was not how I wanted to shoot my load. Chuck dutifully stripped me to my boxer shorts, then I took him by the hand and walked him into my bedroom. Once on the bed I spent a long time kissing the young buck, and also playing with his butthole, getting it greasy for easier entry. I took a perverse pleasure in leaving the boy in his 'free boy boxer shorts'. I was then able to pretend that I was doing something against the law and downright immoral. I imagined that I was bedding one of my free boy students. And indeed back when Chuck had dressed for school and put on these plaid boxers, he had been one of my free boy students.

His feet were resting on my shoulders when I entered his virgin ass. I was hovering over him with my cock pressing against his hole. I shoved forward and he scrunched up his face like he was trying not to scream. I planted tender kisses all over his face as I pulled my cock back and then inched it forward just a bit. I ordered him to lick my hairy chest and suck on both of my nipples. Having my nipples sucked always helps me get harder. In this case I wanted Chuck to concentrate on my chest in order to take his mind away from the pain up his butt.

I grabbed his hips and pulled him the rest of the way down onto my thick cock. My pubes were resting against the backs of his thighs. My balls were resting on his ass cheeks. I began to fuck him, slowly at first. Then I was moving in and out faster. I started long dicking him. I would pull almost all the way out of the boy's tender hole, and then slam back in all the way very quick and very hard. He would grunt each time I slammed into him.

I was dripping sweat and could feel my heart about to burst as my cock forced its way deeper than before. I felt like it was suddenly longer and thicker wrapped in the new slaveboy's insides. My cock shot very hard, over and over again. Each time my cock pulsated, Chuck gasped and I grunted.

When I collapsed on top of the new slave, I was glued to him with my dried sweat. With my cock still in his ass, I reached down and began slowly pumping his cock. In a soft voice, I said, "This is your introduction to being a slave, Chuck. I know you've been through a lot today. So your master is treating you kindly and jerking you off. What do you say, boy?"

"Th-thank you, master," he stammered.

I rubbed up and down harder until he shot in my hand. Then I brought that hand to his mouth and ordered him to lick it clean. He swore he had never before tasted even his own cum. I made note of that and decided that the next day he would have to get a good taste of his master's cum.

As I laid in bed with him, feeling calm and relaxed, I started to think about my Understanding Modern Indenture curriculum for the following year. I would start the next school year owning my own slaveboy, so I could bring Chuck to class for various demonstrations. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. It would help to normalize indenture for the new students, many of whom knew Chuck when he was a student. I knew the younger boys would certainly enjoy seeing the former skateboard champ of the school naked and humiliated.

Chuck's education

Some colleagues asked why I chose Chuck. Many of them insisted that Connor, with his pecs and muscled arms was the most appealing. Others asked how I could resist the charms of Lars, the slim boyish blond. Still others reminded me that Tino had a harder, more athletic body than Chuck. I thought about this for quite some time until I realized I simply enjoyed Chuck's company.

I know you've all read slaveboy stories about a master who wants his slave gagged, constantly tortured, scared to ever speak. I'm very knowledgeable about the slave industry and I know these accounts are true, but the idea of having such a pathetic creature in my home doesn't appeal to me. Chuck makes me laugh, and that means a lot. I like snuggling with him in bed as I watch a movie (granted, it's always a movie I choose and one he probably hates, but he's a slaveboy so what can he do about it?). I enjoy having him give me a long leisurely blow job as I sip my coffee and read the Sunday paper.

In a strange way I feel like I am emulating the role of a father, with the slaveboy as my ersatz son in my very own incest fantasy. Of course Chuck is the idealized son, the one who helps me out of my clothes, and has my dinner on the table, who snuggles up with me when I'm chilly and who sucks my cock when I'm horny. What more could any father want?

Chuck and I eat dinner together. Of course I eat at the table and he eats from his bowl on the floor. Of course we shower together; he washes me thoroughly in the shower which I find very relaxing. I take him along on outings. My friends have come to know him – most of my closer friends have used Chuck for some sort of sexual release. And we sleep together. Well, nights I'm restless the boy sleeps on the floor next to my bed, chained to the footboard. But a majority of nights he sleeps cuddled up next to me under the blankets.

I have not neglected Chuck's education. Changing the age of full indenture to 15 swept the continent. And soon after there were many online classes for slaveboys to complete their high school diplomas. Chuck attended class in front of my computer monitor. Onscreen were boxes with his teacher's video feed, and the feeds from all the other slaveboys in the class. I enjoyed watching from the side. The students were expected to always speak as properly polite slaveboys. The instructor would instantly message slave owners if their boys earned any punishments. He was generous in giving out punishments. Not so generous with grades. Since I promised to punish Chuck for any grade below an 'A' I had plenty of opportunities to beat my slave's tender ass.

Early on I asked Chuck which he found more embarrassing when accompanying me grocery shopping: a slavejock or his own free boy boxers? He was reluctant to admit it, but slaveboys must tell their masters the truth, he found the free boy boxers more embarrassing. How could that be? The slavejock exposed, framed and separated his butt cheeks making them especially provocative.

He acknowledged me and told me that he'd gotten used to gay men looking at his ass. Why should he care if he gave them boners when they saw him in his slavejock? Any man chosen by his master could sodomize him up the rump. He was right. In fact, I enjoyed watching other men ogling my young slaveboy, and enjoyed watching certain men sodomizing his rear end.

"When you dress me in a slavejock, master, I feel like I'm a slave. But when I'm wearing my own boxers, the same ones I used to wear to school, I feel like I'm still a free boy, a student at school, sir. And that makes me feel embarrassed that all these people are seeing me without any shirt or pants on. You understand, sir, anytime we go to the supermarket we always see guys who knew me at school or neighbors who remember me growing up." He looked down and blushed. He had confirmed what I suspected and I made a point of dressing him in his free boy boxers for public occasions.

By the time I returned to teach my next class session the following Saturday, there were only seven boys remaining. The other parents had decided to cash in and sell their sons while the market for 15-year-olds was hot. The parents of these seven boys had decided either to hold off selling their sons till the boys reached 17, or to at least give the boys the benefit of finishing the class before sending them to the auction block.

We began the following year with three sections of UMI. Since I was most knowledgable about the curriculum, they asked me to teach the new class of 13-year-old boys. I would have to figure out how to adapt my coursework to suit them. In spite of their tender ages, I still had to prepare them for future enslavement. The school hired a retired older slave trainer to take on the 15-year-old boys, and they chose a young man who had worked for a fine slave trading establishment to teach the 14-year-olds.

I figured one of these two new instructors would take over the program from me the following year. But that year did not go well. Two months into the year it was discovered that the young instructor for the 14-year-old boys had been coercing his free boy students to suck his cock. Not only was he fired, he was enslaved and sent off to the auction house in Monterey. That's a lesson for anyone who doesn't take our laws seriously and tries to have sex with underage free boys.

By that time, enough of the 15-year-old boys had been sold that their class had dwindled down to a few. So the school combined those students into one class with the 14-year-olds and gave them to the older slave trainer. Soon after that, boys were reported with serious injuries. Their teacher had drawn blood in his punishments and he had not been following the guidelines for punishments. He was fired, but not enslaved. Some parents of wounded boys threatened to sue our school district, but it was shown that all the skin abrasions would heal in a matter of months. I heard that the older instructor moved down to the Theocratic Republic of Dixie where he is preparing teenage Dixie boys for future indenture.

So I was left to teach the youngest students on Saturdays, and then the older boys in a Sunday session. When they pleaded with me to take on both classes and promise to stay the following year, I could have negotiated for higher pay. But instead I demanded that the school provide me with another 'bonus' from among the current student body.

Funny how I had been planning to retire. But now I was enjoying my teaching job more than ever.

The End

It seems strange to me that the bulk of North America used to be one nation. How is it possible that people with such diverse views and attitudes could live together in one country? After the great shake-up of society, the former United States split into a variety of smaller nations.

The Northeast started out as a group of competing nation-states, until they were all merged into the Republic of Manhattan. This was the center of power and wealth on our continent. The Theocratic Republic of Dixie had the lowest level of education, but the highest church attendance. The Black Dominant State of Alabama was independent of Dixie – any white man who spent too much time there was automatically enslaved. The Midwestern and Great Lakes states had struggled, but now functioned as colonies of the Republic of Manhattan. The mountain states could be pretty uncivilized. A series of small nation-states were established and, after decades of fighting among themselves, formed into the Great North Plains Federation of States.

On the West Coast, the former states of Arizona and New Mexico, and the southern part of California were all annexed by Mexico (making up for a historic injustice). The central coast was formed into the Gay State of Eureka. They had laws similar to the way Alabama governed whites. In Eureka, if you were gay you could live as a free citizen. If you were straight and stayed there for more than a certain number of days, you would be automatically enslaved. North Eureka included the Puget Sound area and that was totally inhabited by lesbians.

Indenture and enslavement were legal in all areas of North America. There was a strong belief in letting the free market rule. Therefore, since there was a market for good looking young males as pleasure slaves (and ugly, brutish males to work in mines and factories), slavery made sense.

Outside of the Republic of Manhattan, Eureka became the most prosperous part of the continent; this was because of their innovation and universal education. Some areas that had sucked their resources dry and poisoned their land with fracking and strip mining, didn't have much to trade with. Both Dixie and the Great North Plains based part of their economies on shipping boys off for sale on the coasts. Dixie was the main supplier for slaveboys to the Republic of Manhattan, while the Great North Plains provided boys to Eureka. Both of these areas had accepted this inevitability: families came to believe it was their patriotic duty to indenture their sons, and boys were encouraged to be brave in accepting their fates.

For those who ask, WHY ARE THERE ONLY MALE SLAVES? Idunno 3; why not?

The End

This story is a re-telling of UNDERSTANDING MDDERN INDENTURE CLASS by Master Redbeard. It's not a continuation. It covers the same events, but from the point of view of Chuck, one of the students in the class (and eventually a slaveboy).

The Setup

In the New North America, the former United States is split into smaller nations. The government of the Great North Plains Federation of States profits from selling the best looking and most athletic 18-year-old boys as pleasure slaves to wealthier regions of the continent. To help ease and encourage this transition for certain teen boys (the most desirable boys), schools offer Understanding Modern Indenture Classes in their junior year of high school.

In Book I, Dr. Handley, a pioneer in teaching this curriculum, described a particularly memorable year with a group of his 15-year-old students. In this story we hear from Chuck, a student in that very same class, who has a different perspective on the curriculum and the events of the year. Chuck is surprised and upset when he is 'invited' (ordered) to join the UMI class. It turns out to be a surprising year with an unexpected outcome for Chuck.

AS TOLD BY CHUCK, FORMER STUDENT & SLAVEBOY

It was awkward for me to read my former professor's story about the year I spent as his student in Understanding Modern Indenture class. I mean, just imagine how funny you would feel to read your teacher's sexual opinion about your ass? And then to read his version of what happened in the park in Gaytown when I spermed inside my blue boxer shorts and went home with spunk dribbling down my left leg – damn, that was the most embarrassing moment of my life up to that time. Since then I've served as a slaveboy, so I've learned plenty more about embarrassment and humiliation.

My story won't take you too much beyond what Dr. Handley told in his story. But it will give you another point of view. I was one of those boys being stripped, humiliated, fondled, felt up, masturbated, and trained to become a slaveboy. In Dr. Handley's version it sounded like he coordinated all that stuff with 18 boys singlehandedly. Truth be told, there were enough slave traders, volunteer dads, or just men from the town who enjoyed helping out with our class. Well, maybe it's more accurate to say there were men who enjoyed seeing and feeling up a bunch of nearly naked teen boys.

Let's face the truth. They tell you that the class is about learning the indenture industry (indenture is a much nicer word than slavery). They say it could lead to jobs as a slave trainer or a trader or even in slave transport or slave accessories. But it's really a class to get cute teenage boys to accept their fates; to get us used to following orders, being naked and being touched by older guys.

Everyone knows that slaveboys are used for sex! Well, maybe not the rough and ugly slaves who are sent down to the mines. But good looking teenage guys were always destined for the 'personal services' market. That could mean a slaveboy is doing housework in some suburban kitchen. Or it could mean the slaveboy is trapped in some sleazy brothel on the other side of the world. Either way, the boy is going to take dick up his butt. But they would never tell us that in our UMI class. I kept asking the professor.

I remember when my dad got the notice that I was 'accepted' into the Understanding Modern Indenture class. Even though it was worded as an acceptance letter, it was really an order from the state. We were told "Your fathers aren't obligated to sell you at any future date, but they are obligated to send you to the class." All the dads and their boys knew that once a boy was UMI certified, it added as much as 20% more value to his sale price. At the same time, once a boy was in UMI class, the chances of his father enslaving him nearly doubled. On top of that, my 15th birthday fell the day before UMI class began, so I qualified just under the wire for this year's group of boys.

It really pissed me off that I got called up for UMI. I had done everything to stay under the radar at my high school. I never joined any sports teams or any clubs. My pants were so loose on me they only stayed up with a belt. I wore baggy black sweatshirts and hid my face under hats and hoods. The only thing that could have called attention to me was my skateboarding, because I was damn good. I went everywhere on a board. In the hilly country where we live, I feel like a board is safer than a bike – well, at least the way I ride them.

When I showed up for the first Saturday of UMI class, I was curious to see which other boys would be there. I had very few surprises when I saw the boys from my own school. They were the jocks, the fratboy types, the popular good-looking boys. There were a few boys I didn't know, boys who had been homeschooled, but they looked pretty much the same as our school jocks. I didn't see where I fit in.

I had a good body, but it didn't have the definition of the boys who played sports and lifted weights. I remember when we were stripped to underpants and they weighed us on the first day, I was 127 lbs [58 kg] and 5'9" [1.75 m]. Dr. Handley said I was too skinny. He said, "Any owner will want to bulk you up, boy." Then he proceeded to feel me up in my boxer shorts. Officially he was examining the merchandise. But I knew the old guy was copping a feel.

Did Dr. Handley even mention in his version of the story that he is a homosexual? The government of the Nation State of Boise had purposely hired a gay to teach the boys in UMI class. The government education people knew what they were doing. The very first day of class I had to stand there stripped to my boxers in slave display position, with my hands behind my head, and I had to submit silently as I got felt up by a known homosexual. And this had all been ordained by the government.

As soon as I felt the man's hands go rubbing then tweaking both of my nipples (and I had to stand perfectly still, not reacting in any way), it was obvious that I was being trained to be an obedient slaveboy. And my body was responding to that training in an unexpected way. When my professor put his hand down the back of my striped boxers and fondled my butt cheeks, I felt the fabric on the front of my underpants rub over my dickhead. I shuddered a little bit. I didn't cum, just a minor tremor. When I looked down there was a spot of wetness on the front of my boxers, emphasizing the head of my stiff prick.

Dr. Handley came around me and brushed two fingers over the wet cotton that encased my erection. He chuckled and said, "Looks like we've got an eager one here." You better believe that when class ended I ran out of there and headed home before anyone could talk to me. I wasn't about to be labeled The Eager One.

But here's the truth: That night when I stripped down to take a shower, I stood in my boxers in front of the full length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. It was the only mirror in our house that would show all of me. I took slave display position with my hands behind my head and looked at myself. At that moment I imagined that there were dozens of homosexuals looking me over, making rude comments about my erection and ready to feel me up in the rudest ways before bidding on me. I pulled down just the back of my boxers, imagining that I was revealing my butt cheeks to the crowd of gays.

I barely reached down to touch my dick and I shot off in my underpants. It took me a long minute to catch my breath. I looked down and saw the wet patch on the front of my boxer shorts. Even though I was alone, I blushed. Once I was in the shower, I imagined that gays were watching me shower and bidding on me and I shot off again. I jerked off another two times that night still thinking about what it would be like to be sold as a slaveboy for homos.

How the hell did this happen? I had always believed I was straight. If you put a naked girl in front of me, I'd bone up in under two seconds. But I wouldn't bone up for a naked guy. I thought about what my professor would look like without his clothes, and I was totally grossed out. I knew I wasn't turned on to guys. But I was strangely aroused by the idea of a strong older man controlling me.

Damn! They talked about this in my lower grades. The teacher said, "Some people just have a slave mentality." All the kids laughed. Then that became our favorite playground taunt: "You've got a slave mentality." In high school they talked about slave mentality in a more serious way, teaching us about personality types. But their focus in that lesson was that "even boys without a slave mentality, can learn to adapt and obey and do great as slaves."

I worked extra hard the day after my first UMI class, chopping wood and fertilizing the rutabaga. I just wanted to keep my body so busy I couldn't stop to think about what had happened to me in class and how horny it made me. But even with all the sweat and strain on Sunday, I still kept boning up in my overalls.

When we all arrived for the second class session, we were ordered to change into the white briefs they had given us. When I started high school I insisted dad had to buy me boxer shorts. To me, white briefs were underpants for little boys. Eventually my father paid a sewing lady to take in the waist on some of his older boxers. But she still left the waistline a little loose (so I could grow into them). I had a lot of pairs of loudly patterned boxer shorts where the seat was almost worn through, and they kept sliding down my hips. So I wasn't so eager to display my underpants. But tighty whities were what young boys wore, and walking around in a tight pair of white briefs made me feel like I was a little kid.

Before they started the body shaving, Dr. Handley took a series of close-up photographs of each of the boys. He said they needed a record of how much hair we each had around our dicks and on our balls. We even had to turn around, bend over, and spread our buttcheeks for a photo of our assholes. Then the professor himself stroked my dick to full erection for photos and official measurements.

After all my body hair was shaved off, I felt even more like a little boy. Even though I was 5'9" [1.75 m] I felt somehow lowly, like I shouldn't put myself on a level with real men. Damn! They had me thinking that way as of the second class session. They did get into my head. And they were getting me to think like a slaveboy.

When Dr. Handley wrote about the first shaving day, he made it sound like he was all alone showing nine pairs of naked boys how to safely shave a guy's balls. I was paired that day with this freckle-faced boy we called Red. Red and I had Mr. McGhee helping us to shave each other. Actually we had that enormous, gross man fondling our junk, and using shaving cream to toy with our cocks and masturbate us into frustration. Mr. McGhee also spent a long time checking out our cracks to see whether anything needed to be shaved back there. As he fingered both of our buttholes, I could see the enormous erection down the left leg of his checkered pants. He didn't do anything to try to hide it. When we were done he grinned at the two of us and licked his lips.

I felt really dirty when that happened. But I also felt a nervous tingling that made my dick throb.

I'd rather not go into details about the enemas. I thought the whole thing was gross, and didn't even like having to stick my greased up finger into Red's asshole to make it slippery for the enema nozzle. But after that week, we all had to give ourselves enemas before class and we were inspected at the start of each class to make sure we had shaved and cleaned ourselves thoroughly.

The following week I got a lot of smacks on my ass because of stray hairs I had left on my body. I talked to some of the other boys who hadn't gotten any smacks, and each of them told me they had help shaving. Connor lived with his grandfather and he told me that the old man had helped shave his pubes and his butt. For Red, it was his little brother who shaved him. He admitted it was humiliating and that the younger boy had mocked his older, more developed brother, but at least Red was shaved clean and had gotten away without any punishment that week. Tino, the boy who was half-Italian, half-Latino, lived on a farm quite a few miles away, so he boarded during the school week with an old guy in town. That old guy helped shave Tino smooth. Some other boys just blushed when I asked about their shaving and didn't want to talk about who helped them.

Since it was just me and my dad at home, the following week I asked dad to help me. When he shaved around my dick and balls I couldn't help getting a boner. He told me it was natural, he tried to act cool, but he talked to me about becoming a slave. "So you are gonna sell me, dad?" I asked him bluntly.

"Well, son, you know how bad the crops have been for the last two years. Money is tight."

"You know what the homos are gonna do to me if you sell me to them, don't you, sir?"

Dad paused and then softly said, "The sphincter is a very resilient muscle." He was finished shaving me and I was standing there naked with a boner sticking out from my body. Dad looked me over and said, "You might as well get used to taking commands and exposing yourself, boy. Go on, jerk off."

I was stunned. If dad ever saw me with a hard-on before, it had been accidental and quickly covered up. Now I was fully exposed and shaved hairless in front of him, and he was ordering me to masturbate myself. I had only attended a few Understanding Modern Indenture classes, but it felt as if this was appropriate. I stroked my cock as he watched. When I got close, he put his hands under my cockhead to catch my load as it shot out. When he brought his cum-filled hands up to my lips I knew what he wanted me to do. I licked up my spunk and sucked on his fingers.

The lesson in masturbating another guy was a memorable class. Our professor had three men helping him that day, but they weren't any of his usual guests and we hadn't seen any of these men before. Dr. Handley chose partners randomly and put me with Connor, the hulking football player. The professor randomly selected me and Connor for the demonstration in front of class (I had started to think that maybe his selections weren't totally random). That particular day in class led to a friendship between me and the dark-haired athlete.

I had to start off stroking Connor's dick, but doing it the way I liked to play with my own dick. Connor had to remain silent for this first part. After a few minutes of this the whole class discussed why it hadn't been a good handjob for Connor. Then I was told to pay attention to Connor's instructions. He spoke and told me he liked his dick pulled harder than I did. He also liked his balls tugged down as I jerked him off. When Connor shot all over my hands, I figured I would feed the jock his own sperm. But I was ordered to lick my hands in this case. This was the first time I tasted spunk that wasn't from my own dick.

Then it was Connor's turn to jerk my cock. His hand was way too rough at first. But then he listened to me and used a gentler touch to make my cock feel really good. He made me cum into a small dish that one of our guests held under my dick head. Those men who were visiting kept going around to all the boys, touching, inspecting, even taking some close up pictures of our junk or our butts. They spent a lot of time with me and Connor. I knew they were mostly interested in Connor, but some of them said nice things about my dick and my ass. When the dish was filled with my load of cum, Connor had to lick it all up in front of the other boys and our guests.

It's odd when you've thought of yourself as a straight boy all your life to hear men talking about your naked ass. One of these guests insisted I had "the best cheeks in the room." When the next man said he thought Connor was superior in every way, the first one insisted, "Yeh, the big football jock sure has a great body, but look at the nice round cheeks on this one." I felt goosebumps on my butt hearing them talk about me that way. When we were all leaving class at the end of the day one of the other boys leaned to me and whispered, "You know those visitors were from Eureka." I turned back to look at them laughing with Dr. Handley. Of course, it made sense that they'd come from the all-gay nation to look over Boise's future 'merchandise'.

After each UMI class my father would ask me what we had done that day. At the start I was embarrassed to tell him. But then dad showed up for one of the classes. For that week he was one of the guests who was there to help Dr. Handley with us boys. Toward the end of the day, the professor assigned me to give my dad a handjob. It was standard that one of the boys would be assigned to masturbate each of our guests each week. After all, we were being trained to follow another guy's instructions for how to pleasure his dick.

I had been boned up in my plaid boxer shorts for hours. My father had been showing a tent in his tan slacks most of the day. With the rest of the class watching, I had to undress my dad and neatly fold his clothes. He was laughing nervously as he stood there in his boxers, a big wet spot marking the tip of his tent. When I stripped off my father's underpants, his thick cock popped up stiff. Dr. Handley chuckled and said, "I can see where Chuck gets his thick one."

My father said that he would be more comfortable laying or sitting. So he was given a big comfortable chair and I knelt beside him and wrapped my fingers around his stiff cock. I stroked him up and down as he told me how he liked his cock touched. The professor encouraged him to express all of his likes and dislikes. My dad wanted his chest played with and his nipples pinchedand tugged. Then as he really got into it, he declared that it had been such a long time since anyone had licked his nipples. Dr. Handley immediately ordered me to lean across my father's body so I could lick and suck his nipples. I had to lean against my father's big hairy body to get my lips on his nipples. I felt his hairiness press into my smooth skin. As I licked and sucked, I kept getting hairs in my mouth.

Then the professor encouraged my dad to 'enjoy the boy', and told him to touch me anyway he liked. My father's big hand pushed down the back of my boxers so that my ass cheeks were revealed to everyone else in the room. Then he was massaging and squeezing my cheeks. As I ran my hand quicker up and down his thick erection, he started spanking my ass. He hadn't actually spanked me since I was 12 and back then it was through my tighty whities, but now I could feel my exposed ass stinging from his powerful hand smacks.

My dad's load started shooting out of his dick so fast I wasn't prepared for it. The first blast went up in the air and then landed on his hairy chest. I did my best to get my other hand at the head of his cock to try to catch the rest of his sperm. But much of the mess was already dripping down into his auburn pubes and between his thighs. Of course I was ordered to lick up all the excess spunk. My face was in my dad's thick bush, licking the jizz out of the hairs. Then I was down between his legs, licking the cream that had landed on his balls and was dripping between his hairy thighs. I even had to return to his chest where his first blast of cum had landed.

As I continued licking diligently, Dr. Handley was telling my dad that "your boy needs experience washing a man in the shower. He should be doing that for you on a daily basis, just for the practice." From that point on, I regularly washed my father's naked body in the shower. Of course when I washed his dick and balls he would get a hard-on, so then it was time for me to masturbate him. Now, aside from feeling like I was being turned into a slaveboy each Saturday at school, I felt like I was a slaveboy-in-training in my house with my own dad.

One time when I had a really private conversation with Connor, I told him about everything I did for my dad's dick. Connor just looked back at me blankly and then said, "Well, my grandfather says once I'm sold to the gays I'll have to learn to use my mouth 3; y'know, use my lips and tongue on cocks and all. Well, he says if I'm slow at doing it or if I gag or use my teeth, that I'll get beaten. Grandpa doesn't want me to get beaten." I knew that Connor lived alone with his retired-Marine grandfather, and the boy didn't have to complete his story. I just looked back at him and said, "So you're sucking off your grandpa's cock?" He grinned back at me broadly and replied, "Yeh, he's really good about teaching me. He says pretty soon he'll be able to fuck my face." I just continued in silence, wondering whether I should be getting that same sort of practice with my father.

Then came the week when we were put in cock cages. Of course the boys in the class had heard this was going to happen, just as we had heard about the body shaving and masturbation. But we didn't know when it was going to happen, and didn't really know details. Prior to having the cage put on my cock, I was making jokes about it. But as soon as it was snapped in place, I felt anxious. I felt my dick throb against the plastic and metal device. But I couldn't get an erection, and I absolutely couldn't touch my cock.

For the next few days I was angry all the time, at every little thing. Then I woke up in the middle of the night on Tuesday and felt a wetness all over my thighs and my crotch. I pulled back the blanket and realized I had shot off spontaneously during a wet dream. I felt more relaxed, but also sticky and messy. I got into the shower and washed the spunk off me. My dad woke up then and came to check on me. When he saw that I'd cum on myself, he just laughed and headed back toward his bedroom. But then he thought better of it, and had me masturbate him before he returned to bed.

I was so wound up by the following Saturday morning, I couldn't sit still or stand still. It's like my legs wanted to keep on scissoring in and out. I mean, it has to be unnatural to expect any 15-year-old boy to go a full week without touching his cock. But of course when we got back to class the following Saturday, Dr. Handley took his time about removing our cock cages. And as soon as my cage was removed and my boxer shorts pulled back into place, my hands were cuffed behind my back so I couldn't touch myself.

Each of us was wearing our free boy underpants. It was the first time I was wearing these new boxers my dad bought me. He wasn't big on gifts, but after visiting my class he told me he wanted me to have some new underpants to wear. He bought me four new pairs of boxer shorts, each with bright colorful patterns (which I would never have chosen for myself). This pair was bright blue with little vintage artwork of palm trees and beach scenes – it was like a dumb joke to wear them up here in the Rocky Mountains.

All of us boys had our cocks released and were immediately handcuffed. Then we were attached to the back of an open truck used for UMI class. As we drove through town, anyone we passed could look into the truck and see the group of us, chained helplessly, our dicks fully stiff and straining against our own free boy underpants. I was surprised when the truck went past the park where we usually worked on community service projects. Then we left town and I had no idea where we were going. I was confused because I didn't even know the UMI class could be taken out of town.

I kept looking down at my erection trapped in my boxers. After a week of having my cock locked up, of course it was fully stiff and begging for attention. But with my hands cuffed behind me I couldn't touch myself. And I was chained in such a way that I couldn't rub my dick against anything, not even against another boy.

After driving quite a distance, I realized we were heading toward the Gaytown section of Capitol City. I saw we were on the main street of Gaytown and there were men pointing at us as we passed. When we stopped at a light, some men came up to the open backed truck and started touching the boys. I felt rough hands feeling my pecs. I shouted out, "Hey, we're not slaveboys!"

The man fondling my chest smacked me hard across my face. "Maybe not slaveboys YET! But you are trainees and it is valid for any free man to examine the merchandise."

Dr. Handley leaned out the window to look back at the altercation and added, "Also, when these boys are out like this as trainees, it is incumbent on them to address all free men as sir. Don't sorry, sir, that boy will be punished."

Maybe it was having gone a week without masturbating, but I felt especially angry and frustrated. We drove to a park in Gaytown and it was clear that local residents had been told about the visit from teenage UMI students who would be working in their free boy underpants. There were men there watching us and only too eager to touch us. I felt hands reaching out and grabbing me, fondling me and pinching me. I just squirmed to try to dodge them and kept my head down. I didn't want to get anymore punishments than I'd already earned.

When we were off the truck, our professor grabbed me by the collar and led me up to a platform. I saw a crowd of dozens of gay men watching as he leaned me forward across a raised surface and pulled down the back of my boxers. Then he turned to tell the crowd that I had been rude to a free man. The cheeks on my face burned red knowing that most all of these older men in this crowd were homosexuals and enjoying the sight of my exposed butt cheeks. Dr. Handley gave me 10 hand spanks. That may not sound like much, but his hand can deliver a wallop. My buttcheeks turned redder than my face by the time he was finished.

When my professor sent me back to the group of boys, someone in the crowd shouted out, "Now punish the one in the jockstrap." I looked over at Connor and he was looking down at the ground, his face flushed. Connor had been wearing his jockstrap under a pair of grey PE gym shorts – the layers were his way to try to hide his boner after removal of the cock cage. But Dr. Handley wouldn't accept that the gym shorts counted as underpants. So he had forced Connor to strip to just his jockstrap for our field trip to Gaytown. The big athlete's firm buttcheeks were exposed to all the gays gathered around us.

Soon after, our paving project was forgotten. Dr. Handley announced, "You boys are not slaveboys. We will not permit anyone to treat you as they would a slaveboy. However, you are trainee boys. Therefore you are treated as potential slaveboys or slaveboys-to-be ‘on the calendar' as the saying goes. Passersby can stop you and examine you. After all, given the high likelihood that you boys will be indentured in the next few years, everyone on this street is a potential purchaser." You should have heard the homosexuals cheer that announcement.

And so we were paraded in front of the gays, so they could 'examine' us. As I said before, examining was just a fancy word for copping a feel. I was chained helplessly with my hands cuffed behind my back and my temporary green collar attached to the collars of five other boys. Our group was led by Dr. Handley, but we could hardly move for all the men who wanted to touch Connor's chest and his exposed ass. The other boys in our group also got attention.

Then there was a big overweight man in front of me and he was playing with my nipples. I had never played with my nipples before UMI class. But during class sessions I discovered my nipples were a very erogenous zone for me. Rubbing my nipples guaranteed that my dick would be fully stiff. But as this man played with my chest, I was already throbbing hard in my boxers. His buddy, who was also a big husky guy, was behind me feeling up my ass cheeks through my boxers, and jabbing his leather-covered boner against my butt.

That's when it suddenly happened. My cock had been caged for a week. I hadn't shot any jizz since my wet dream the previous Tuesday night. The sensations of the two large men feeling me up, put me over the top. Even though nobody was touching my penis, the contact with the thin fabric of my underpants was enough and I started to shoot my load. The trouble was, my hard-on was inside the bright blue boxers. With all that stored up spunk, my cock kept on pulsing and each pulse shot out more cream.

The inside of my underpants was coated with thick gooey gobs of my spunk. There was a big wet spot on the left side of my boxers. Then the spot grew wider and some of my jizz ricocheted off the inside of my underpants and raced down my left leg. I had been through embarrassing things as part of my UMI class, but this was beyond anything else I had experienced. My cock was still pulsing and creaming and the crowd of gay men surrounding us was cheering. My dick was trapped in a gooey mess inside my boxers. I couldn't look up from the ground. I didn't want to look anyone in the eyes.

Dr. Handley dragged me over to a low wall and once more pulled down the back of my boxers. This time he used a paddle and only gave me five whacks. When the fifth blow landed on my reddened ass, I felt something warm and wet splash on my backside. Some men were laughing. I tried to discreetly glance to the side and I saw the big hairy man in leather who had been playing with my chest earlier. He had his cock out and he had just shot his load across my exposed butt.

If I'd had my hands free I would have at least tried to wipe some of it away before pulling up my boxers. But I suppose Dr. Handley wanted to reinforce my humiliation. He pulled up my brightly patterned underpants. The wet spot on the front felt cold against my skin, and the wet spot on my ass was turning cold as well. The spunk running down my left leg was dripping all the way to my feet, and was soon joined by the fat man's spunk dripping down the back of my right thigh. I was still like that when I was chained up in the back of the truck. I just closed my eyes during the ride back to our class building. Even as hands reached into the truck and grabbed at my body, I never opened my eyes and never reacted.

We weren't given a chance to wash off before putting our regular clothes back on. I went home still feeling sticky and still feeling degraded. Dad saw that there was something wrong and insisted I tell him. Even after I told him how humiliating it had been, he still wanted to hear the details.

Somehow I thought my father would be outraged when I told him what happened. Two big hairy homosexuals, each of them older than my dad, had felt me up and played with my body and made me shoot my wad in public in the middle of Gaytown. But dad just nodded. He approved of what Dr. Handley had done. "He's a smart man, son. And they've clearly given a lot of thought and planning to this curriculum. What happens two years from now if you're on an auction floor being examined by men – maybe even the same two fat men who were touching you today – and you lash out at them? Good lord, son, I don't want to see you beaten and whipped! And if a slaveboy up for auction has punishment marks on him, no nice household would ever buy him."

I didn't know what to say in response to that. So I just nodded and told him I needed to shower and take a nap. I will confess now that after my shower, when I got to my bedroom, all I wanted to do was jerk off thinking about what had happened. I imagined that those two gross hairy men who touched me that day were buying me. My dad was right. They might very well be my future owners. I jerked off three times thinking about how it felt to be displayed and punished in front of the crowd of gays.

I had gone through most of the school year in UMI class. In another six months I would be 16 and one year closer to becoming a slaveboy at age 17. At that point I was philosophical about it. It would help my dad and me financially, and as my dad often said to me, "The sphincter is a very resilient muscle." (Still each time I thought about some homosexual man bringing me home as his newly purchased slaveboy, my buttcheeks clenched together.)

This one particular Saturday morning my dad was acting strange. He made me a big breakfast, something he never did. And he gave me a hug as I was leaving for my UMI class. I had to ask, "Hey, what's going on? Is something wrong?"

He just smiled at me, brushed my hair off my forehead, and said, "I'm just feeling old this morning, son. Glad to have my boy with me 3; for now." I didn't read anything into his choice of words, just went to class and did all the usual stuff. But at the end of the day, Dr. Handley called for four of us to stay. He pulled out papers and said our fathers had signed off to allow us to go through "a much more realistic indenture experience." Dr. Handley said he was taking the four of us someplace where there were fewer rules restricting what they could do to us. Somehow that made me shiver with fear, but at the same time it made my dick chub up in the white briefs.

There was no time for the four of us to talk. I was chained and gagged in the back of the van across from Connor. We just looked at each other, both questioning what was going on. He and I had become friends by that time. Next to me was Lars, a slim blond boy who I barely knew outside UMI class. He had a hard body and I found out he was a topnotch gymnast and swimmer. Tino was the fourth boy, dark, sharp features and his lean body was beautifully sculpted – he was a wrestler and had 8-pack abs.

We were in the van a long time. I think they spiked the water with something to help us calm down and sleep, and I was dozing off for most of the ride. When we finally stopped, the four of us were marched in chains into the back of some building. Once inside, it quickly became clear that this was a slave auction house. A chill ran through me as it didn't seem like we were in the Great North Plains Federation anymore. I figured they had brought us here to freak us out, and 18 months in the future I might be in this very auction house waiting to be examined and sold.

Dr. Handley held off on telling us the truth – the age of indenture had suddenly been lowered to 15 and all of us would be available for sale immediately. Our fathers had already signed off. Actually, it was Saturday evening and we would be sold on Monday. Apparently the government people had to ratify this law or something like that.

The four of us wore our green collars and white briefs, so it was clear to anyone that we were trainees and not fully enslaved. But we were chained together as our professor led us on a tour of the facilities. We stopped at one station and the gruff workman there insisted on pulling down the backs of each of our undershorts. He felt my ass and did the same to the other boys. Then he said, "I can't wait till I get my hands on these boys." I just took a deep breath. There would be many moments like that.

They couldn't give us our real slaveboy collars until Monday after this new law about age of full use came into effect. But they put thin silver wires around our cocks and behind our balls. Any small bit of defiance from one of us boys and he would feel an electric shock rush through his balls. It was usually just a mild unpleasantness, but any of the masters in that place could raise the amount of power that would course through a boy's balls. (We were told that any free man who worked in the slave auction house was to be called Master, and obeyed like one.)

When it got late, cock cages were locked in place over each of our dicks. Then our hands were cuffed behind our backs and we were each pushed into our own small cage. Each cage had a bowl of slave chow and a bowl of water. We had practiced in UMI class what it was like to eat from a dog bowl with our hands cuffed behind our backs, so we could only use our mouths. This is how some masters liked to see their slaveboys fed. Because of lessons from Dr. Handley I had learned to lap water with my tongue and get a fully satisfying drink.

Lying in the cage that night, my cock locked up so even the start of an erection would be painful, I thought a lot about Dr. Handley. Some of the guys grumbled about him, but I reminded them that Handley wasn't the one who set up the whole system of indenture. He wasn't the one who promoted the government ideas of "the free market above all else" and "monetizing all assets, including your sons." I mean, whatever our professor's political opinions might be, he had prepared us well for this moment. I was helplessly caged and cuffed, aware that I would be sold as a slaveboy in less than 45 hours. But I knew that Handley had prepared me to handle whatever happened.

On Sunday, the auction people put our bodies to work. First we were all made to run 5 miles [8 km], which was 20 times around their track. We each had to do a rigorous workout using machines. These machines had been pre-set with the amount of weight and number of reps each of us was to do. If we didn't meet those numbers, we would get an electric sting behind our balls. As the workout became more difficult and more of us were aching, the jolt of electricity was turned up. Now a boy would jump each time electricity was shot through his balls.

Poor Lars dropped his weights and slumped forward, declaring, "I can't 3; I can't do it anymore." We all heard the electric buzz and watched as the blond boy convulsed and then fell to the floor. We knew he had been hit with a really big jolt of power. So we all turned back to our machines and put in the most effort we could. Lars was helped back into his machine by one of the slave trainers on the staff. Then the lean blond athlete took a deep breath and kept going, doing one more rep, two more reps, closing off his mind to everything except the weights he had to move.

After we had a light meal of more slave chow and water, they kept us at physical labor, though less strenuous than the morning's agenda. This time the four of us were working together to build a wooden fence for an enclosure. I kept glancing over and seeing men who were taking notes on what they observed. I wasn't sure that the auction house actually needed an enclosure built. But I figured they wanted to see if each of us could pull his own weight, use tools, work cooperatively and solve problems to get a task done. I think we did pretty well.

That night we were put back into our cages handcuffed as we had been the previous night. I was sleeping when I heard a noise. There were a lot of noises, since a lot went on in this building. But this was the noise of people in the room with us. I blinked and saw movement. Two dark figures were opening Connor's cage, which was next to mine. When they pulled him upright, I heard him whisper, "Please, d-don't hurt me 3; sirs."

When I heard the first man laugh, I knew it was the workman who had stopped us on our tour of the slave preparation facilities, the one who felt our butts and said he couldn't wait to get his hands on us. It appeared he didn't intend to wait getting his hands on Connor.

There was a loud smack and I knew that the hand had either smacked Connor's face or ass cheeks. Then the gruff man addressed Connor, "Look kid, if we do anything to lower your sale value, we're both gonna get lifetime indenture. So we know we can't take your ass cherry." A small light was turned on. I could see the workman from the slave prep area and his hard dick was sticking out of his fly. Next to him was a younger guy, probably a teen near my age. who looked like a replica of the older man. This teen boy had his hand in his pocket, clearly playing with his dick as he looked us over.

The workman was caressing Connor's hair and his face. "In a few hours you're going to officially be a slaveboy, and then any man can have any kinda sex with you 3; well, any man who could afford to buy or rent you. If it weren't for this sudden change from the legislature, you would have another year or two of freedom to look forward to." He had a really mean laugh. "But right now you're still legally a free straight teenager. It would be immoral and illegal for any adult to stick his cock into the mouth of a free boy like you." The man pushed his dripping cockhead against Connor's lips. He snarled down, "Have you ever taken a cock in your mouth before, boy?"

There was a moment of confusion on Connor's face. Then he stammered, "N-no, sir. I've been straight, sir. I never took cock in my mouth, sir." I knew Connor was lying. He had been sucking off his grandfather for most of this school year. His grandfather had convinced the boy that getting this cocksucking experience would ease his transition into enslavement.

Connor's lips were forced open and a dirty uncut cock was stuffed in. He gagged. I don't think he was putting on a show. I'm sure Connor's grandfather had never used his mouth as roughly as this. The man was standing up, holding Connor's face hard against his body. Then Connor was pushed back onto the floor. The man landed on his face and stuffed his thick cock into the boy's throat once again. His big body jiggled as he bounced up and down, slamming his dick against the back of the big athlete's throat.

At the same time, his younger partner lifted Connor's legs in the air. I was scared at that moment. The man had said they couldn't take Connor's cherry, but they had the dark-haired stud in position for fucking. Connor was ordered to reach down and spread his cheeks open, revealing his anus. Meanwhile the younger guy knelt between Connor's spread legs and jerked off all over the big athlete's butt. Some of his spunk seems to have landed right on the pink flesh of Connor's spread asshole.

The two intruders put Connor back in his cage and then they put their clothes in order. Connor looked over to me, grinned and winked. He had been boasting to me how talented he had become at sucking his grandfather's thick cock. He said his grandfather could face fuck him or even hold his body hard against the boy's face, while Connor had to hold his breath. While the tall athlete was proud of all that, he knew that as a new slaveboy it was better to tell free men that he didn't have that experience. (Then they'd be more impressed by how quickly he learned.)

As the two guys plunged the room back into darkness, the younger said, "Gee, dad, that was the best ‘bring your son to work' day ever. The big dumb jock reminded me of that school bully I told you about. He's a year ahead of me and plays on the football team, dad. I'd sure like to see him all naked in a cage down here, daddy."

His father patted the boy on the head and said, "We'll see what we can do for you, son." Then the two of them left and it was just as if they had never been there.

The following morning we were exercised and by the time we were through the legislature had completed doing its thing and we were officially declared slaveboys. (Dr. Handley had taken us over the Eureka border to the town of Winnemucca. As a border town it was famous for its auctions and easy sales of slaveboys. It was well known that when a stepdad or other relative wanted to get rid of a boy, he would bring the lad to Winnemucca. There were a lot of sleazy slave dealers in that town. But we had been brought to the most exclusive and most expensive dealership.)

Dr. Handley was there for the induction when all four of us were lined up naked and declared slaveboys, indentured for the following five years. I think I saw him shed a little tear even as he grinned from ear to ear. Then we had our GPS devices implanted under our left armpits. There was a tattoo of an S on the upper right of our chests and ones on our left buttcheeks. (We had been told these tattoos were easy to remove once they were five years old.) Then came the heavy metal collars.

We were put through another round of cleanings, inside and out, and shavings. Then we were dressed in our freshly-laundered free boy underpants and ushered into a fancy drawing room, hands cuffed to the D-rings on the sides of our metal collars. There was a small group of men mingling about. A white-haired gentleman tapped a glass to get everyone's attention. He pointed to us lined up against a wall and said, "This is the very first shipment, gentlemen 3; heheh, the law was only changed today in the Great North Plains, and this is the first group of 15-year-boys made available for sale." The men in the room seemed genuinely surprised and they applauded politely. The white-haired man continued, "Since you gentlemen are our prize clients, the men who have shown a true appreciation for the products we sell, we wanted you to be the first to examine our newest pieces of merchandise."

I remembered that day in the park in Gaytown, when the men had felt me up – how humiliating that had been for me. That was nothing compared to the way these finely-dressed gentlemen were kneading and pulling at my flesh. Someone was smacking my ass really hard. The white-haired man stepped forward with a smile on his face and said, "Now, now, Felix. You know it would lower his value to go out on stage with a red bottom." The smacking stopped, but now men were fingering my ass. I looked over at the other boys. They were all being played with, and there was special interest in their butts. I felt a finger up my hole, then I felt a thicker finger, and then two fingers. I thought my skin would rip when three fingers pushed into me. Once again the white-haired man intervened. "We don't want the boy stretched out for his new owner."

Then we were left in peace. Truly, they left us alone in a room and said, "Consider this like you are in the slave quarters. You are free to talk quietly." The four of us talked very quietly, still with our hands cuffed to our collars. We were remembering our hometown of Boise, remembering our school, most especially remembering Dr. Handley and all he had taught us in Understanding Modern Indenture class. At that moment I wished there was a way to thank him before we were brought out to the auction bloc.

Each of us was placed in a frame. My right hand was attached to the upper right corner. My left hand went to the upper left corner. My legs were spread in the same way so that my body made an X. I was wearing my free boy boxer shorts, a brightly checked pattern that my dad had bought for me. The rest of my body was smooth and glistening from the shaving and oiling that had just been done.

Each of these frames was on wheels. It could be set in a stationery position, or it could easily glide. They were going to just slide all of us out onto the stage, then spin the frames around when men wanted to see our butts. One of the auctioneers stood beside us and nodded, "It's going to be a little while before we bring you boys out. They've already been told that tonight's special merchandise would be 15-year-old boys from the Great North Plains, the first batch we've ever sold. But you'll be the final items on tonight's program." It was nice of him to fill us in like that.

But just then my attention turned to Dr. Handley talking with some official looking rotund man. I don't know how their conversation started but the important-looking man pointed to the four of us on our frames and announced, "Pick one of them. We will give you a signing bonus of one of these slaveboys." Then there was more conversation I couldn't hear. And then Dr. Handley was pointing at me. My frame was pulled aside from the others. I saw my three classmates being wheeled out onto the auction stage.

It took time for them to unfasten me from the frame. Dr. Handley had gone off with the rotund man to do paperwork. I was left hanging and listening to the loud voice of the auctioneer out on the stage. "Look at this one, gentlemen. He's wearing the same tighty whities that he put on Saturday morning to go to his high school class. He was a free boy back then on Saturday, putting on his free boy white briefs." I knew he was talking about Lars, the slender blond boy. "And now those briefs are pulled down for your enjoyment, gentlemen." I heard the whoops and catcalls from the crowd. This man knew how to get them worked up. "See what he looks like with all his body hair shaved. For those men out there who have some fatherly feelings 3;" (loud laughter) "or grandfatherly feelings 3;" (louder, more sustained laughter), "this boy may be just what you're looking for."

I realized my cock was dribbling in my boxers listening to the scene on the auction stage. I imagined myself bound and stripped in front of all those hundreds of gay men, and it was making my cock jump and throb and drip pre-cum.

Then I heard the auctioneer go on about Connor, and from his description he was feeling and fondling all of the young athlete's muscles. I heard a loud slap that reverberated and knew it must have been on Connor's firm ass cheeks. Then the auctioneer said something about "If this is what the boy's body looks like at 15, can you imagine what three years of hard training will do to him? How'd you like to buy this sexy 15-year-old with plans to turn him into an 18-year-old pony slave pulling your traps and wagons into town." There was a cheer from the crowd.

But then I was fully detached from my frame by the time the auctioneer turned to Tino. I stood at slave rest position, hands behind my back, legs spread. I was still in the brightly-patterned boxer shorts. Dr. Handley put a leash on my collar and led me out of the auction house. When we were outside he was practically dancing his way to the car they had loaned him to bring me back to Boise. He pulled open the door on the passenger side and said, "They gave me a cage to carry you, but I'd rather you sit in the front seat of the car with me."

I climbed into the car, he put the seat belt and shoulder harness on me, and then he leaned across my body and started kissing me hard on the mouth. His tongue pushed into my mouth. I could taste whiskey and cigars on his breath, but I accepted his tongue. We had never practiced kissing a guy in our UMI class, so it was new to me. Thinking about kissing an old guy like Dr. Handley seemed kind of twisted. But now that I was doing it, now that I was this man's property, I was being an obedient slaveboy and kissing him back.

Then the man's lips went to my left ear. I felt his tongue tickle my ear as he whispered, "The reason I chose you, my darling boy, is 3; I knew you wanted this." I tried to shake my head in the negative, but he just grinned at me.

Now, I read Dr. Handley's version of how he drove me home from the auction house in Winnemucca. He claimed that he put me in a cage in the trunk, when I clearly remember sitting beside him. In fact, along the way he told me that he liked company on a long drive, and he spent a lot of time reaching over and fiddling with my body. I know that the version Dr. Handley told was the proper and correct way to travel with a newly purchased slaveboy. So the version he wrote would make it appear he followed all the rules. But truthfully, I don't believe the old man was capable of carrying me in a cage from his car into his house.

Once inside the professor's house, I fixed the two of us a little snack and then my new master led me to his bathroom where I undressed him and washed him in the shower. He grinned throughout and said, "It was good that you washed your dad in the shower, boy – good training." I was kneeling in front of him as I finished washing his cock and balls. I put my fingers lightly around his tool and looked up at him.

He looked down and chuckled, "You're not getting away with just a hand job today, little buddy." He took me by the hand and led me to his bed. I had somehow thought a master would chain me down to a horse to take my cherry. But that wasn't what Dr. Handley wanted. He pulled me into his bed as if we had just come home from a date. His big hairy body was laying on top of my fully shaved body and grinding against me. His thick cock was rubbing up and down and dripping pre-cum on my belly.

At the same time, the man was crazy to kiss me on the mouth and feed me his tongue. I couldn't help feeling aroused by all of this. It wasn't that I wanted to French kiss a hairy old man. But the fact that I was his property and that I had to take his kisses made my hard cock leak.

Then my master did something completely unexpected. He started moving down my body and licking me along the way. He sucked on my nipples, stuck his tongue into my belly button, and wrapped his mouth around each of my balls. Then he started to lick my cock and soon he was sucking me off. I didn't know that a master would ever suck off a slaveboy. The old guy sure knew what he was doing. He was able to take the full length of my dick down his throat and just work his tongue along the bottom. I moaned with pleasure.

As I remember, he masturbated me, had me catch my spunk in my hand and then watched me lick it up. I don't know why, in his version of the story, Dr. Handley wrote that I hadn't even tasted my own cum at that point. He had observed me in UMI class licking up my own cum, and even licking up my father's cum.

Once I had shot off, my master was eager to start teaching me how to service a cock with my mouth. Dr. Handley had a big thick one and I gagged quite a bit trying to get used to it. But I managed to do a fair job, tickling his cock with my tongue while using my hand at the base of his thick tool to jerk him off into my mouth. I thought he was close to shooting his load, but he pulled out.

My master wanted me in a different position. I was lying on my back looking up at him, with my legs over the old guy's shoulders. He started kissing me passionately as I felt his cock head rub up and down along my ass crack. Then he grabbed me around hard and shoved the thick head of his dick into my hole. I gasped and cried out. He just kissed my face and kept on saying, "Shhhhh, shhhhh, that's a good boy."

Then he was all the way inside me and rocking his body up and down, driving his tool deep and then pulling it almost all the way out. My greatest fear had always been having a dick up my butt, and this was a real thick and long one. But I didn't realize the sensations I would feel as it massaged my insides faster and harder. It was like my cock was being jerked off from the inside. Also, given the position we were in, Dr. Handley's big hairy belly was rubbing up and down against the sensitive underside of my cock. I was stiff as iron again in spite of having just shot my load in my master's hands.

This was the part that felt like he was trying to make love to me. It was like he wanted me to be his gay boyfriend, and he was tenderly touching me up, passionately kissing me, and riding my butt in a way that was almost affectionate. It turned out that treating me like a boyfriend and making love to me was one of my master's favorite ways to have sex with me. But he liked other variations. Sometimes he would chain me up like I was a wild, untamed slaveboy, just caught in the mountains. During those sessions, he would tell me to fight against him, but I could hardly do much with my hands cuffed behind my knees. When we played like this, he would ram his cock deep into me and fuck me hard and fast.

Dr. Handley liked to entertain. Men would often visit and my master would begin with, "Now finally I have a slaveboy of my own I can share." The first visit was the rotund man who had offered me as a bonus to my professor back in Winnemucca. He was just as obese as I remembered him, breathing hard as he licked his lips and felt me up.

"You're welcome to use his mouth. He's become quite good. But I'm not so generous in sharing the boy's ass," my owner said.

This man was the head of some sort of institute that paid Dr. Handley's salary, so he just grabbed me by the collar, dragged me toward the bedroom, and said, "Well, that's wise, but certainly doesn't apply to me." The huge man made me worship his repulsive body. I even had to lick under his folds of fat. Then I sucked his balls as he sat on my face. Finally, he fucked me but I had to lay on top of him and impale myself on his long thin tool. The man was breathing hard as I rode his cock, and I was hoping he would have a heart attack. After the obese man left, I had to change the sheets and clean the bedroom because it stank of his vile body odor and sweat.

Another time I had to service the three gay men from Eureka. The one positive I'll say about that evening was that they really admired my body and enjoyed feeling and fondling every bit of me. But they wouldn't stop talking about how all the gays in Eureka would like me, and all the things they'd want to do to me.

Dr. Handley often told me how lucky I was to be a slaveboy in Boise instead of being in Eureka, where I'd be surrounded by gays everywhere I went – gays who'd want to feel and fondle and grope and rape me. But I didn't feel lucky being enslaved in my own hometown. Everywhere I went there were people I knew.

I would accompany my master to the market to carry his shopping. We would always run into men I knew from town, and they'd generally stop to 'examine the merchandise'. That meant I had to stand in a public place in nothing but my boxers, and have men grope me everywhere however they wished. Some of them were very aggressive, like the town barber who'd been cutting my hair since I was a eleven. He'd always stuff his hands down into the back of my boxers and finger my ass crack. Then he'd grab my balls through the fabric of my underpants and tug them, all the while grinning at me.

But the worst was when I'd be out with my master and run into boys I'd known in school. My master would have to step in to keep them from punching me in the stomach or abusing me in some other ways, just to test what they could get away with doing to a slaveboy. And if I was on an errand without my master, there was nobody to stop them doing what they wanted.

One time I was on my way to the hardware store, dressed in just my boxer shorts and flip flops. I didn't need any money, as the store would just put it on my master's account. But a block away from the store I ran into four boys who were wearing school baseball uniforms. I recognized two of them, but didn't know the others. They surrounded me and I tried to respond like a good slaveboy, "Please, sirs, my master has sent me on an errand and he's timing me."

The four of them shoved me into a vacant lot and started unzipping their uniform pants. I was pushed to the ground and had each cock stuffed into my mouth for sucking. Fortunately, most of them were quick on the trigger so it didn't take too much time. But they left me with cum dripping down from my lips and splashed all over my exposed chest. I had to proceed to the hardware store like that. The old man who owned the store took me in back and added his load down my throat as well. Unfortunately, he savored my lips and tongue and took a long time to cum. My master was upset with me for taking so much time on the errand.

After that, if my master wanted me to hurry, he would hang a sign around my neck saying, "This indentured servant is on an errand for his master. Do not delay him." But if he wasn't in a hurry and sent me out without a sign, I'd generally be molested by men or boys.

But the thing I hated most of all was when Dr. Handley would take me into his Understanding Modern Indenture class to demonstrate slave handling to his students. These boys were younger than me, and the humiliation was intense, standing naked in slave display position as they examined my body, feeling and grabbing and prodding and giggling. One blond boy, Ricky, took special delight in groping me roughly with his grubby little hands. A few years earlier I used to babysit for Ricky when his father had to travel. He was a bratty kid and I often had to strip him and force him to take a bath; a few times I resorted to taking the blond boy over my knee for a spanking. You better believe Ricky got his revenge when I was a demonstration subject in his UMI class.

Of course I also got to observe Ricky's humiliation as a student in Understanding Modern Indenture. I was there taking close up pictures and measuring his tiny dick, as he blushed deep red. His embarrassment increased when the professor announced they wouldn't need a razor for Ricky. I also got to grease up the blond boy's asshole and work an nozzle into him for his very first enema. Later in the school year I took special delight in enclosing Ricky's cock in a cage.

Dr. Handley most often brought home guests after the UMI class, the slave traders or local men who had helped him during the class. They had only been able to toy with the students' bodies. But now they had a real slaveboy who could be used in any way they chose (well, any way my master permitted). Most of the time, my master was protective of my butthole and had me suck off his guests. But some of them were special buddies of his and got to fuck me.

One day when Dr. Handley returned home with his guest, I froze on the spot. It was my father. My dad smiled shyly at me. I was dressed in just my slavejock and I looked down at the floor in slave rest position, suddenly nervous. Dr. Handley was showing off my body to my father just as if I were a car. He placed my dad's hands on my bare ass cheeks. "You're not the first man to feel these exquisite cheeks. Probably not even among the first twenty."

My dad chuckled nervously. Soon he was naked lying on the bed and I was between his legs sucking his cock. Dr. Handley was sitting in a comfortable armchair watching us and masturbating himself as he rambled on, "I'm not one to suggest anyone break the law, but you know you could have had Chuck sucking your cock back when he was still a free boy in UMI class. You could have even started before this past year. Believe me, there are some dads and granddads who do that."

My dad grabbed my head and pulled it down hard into his crotch. I felt his cock pulsating down my throat. I swallowed as fast as I could but still some of his spunk spilled out of my mouth. Dr. Handley sounded very disappointed, "Oh, that's too bad, I really wanted you to get a chance at your former son's ass."

My father's cock was still stiff. He chuckled and said, "Well, ever since you invited me 3; well, I haven't masturbated in a few days so I still have another load to give." Apparently my dad had never fucked a guy's ass before, and my owner was helping him get in position. When his cock sank all the way inside me, my dad groaned, "Oh, wow, this feels like heaven."

He started fucking my ass slowly. Dr. Handley was telling me, "Remember this, Chuck. Look how much pleasure you're giving to your own father. Most likely you'll be a free boy before you're 21, Chuck. Remember, a boy's father is always his master. When you're free there's nothing stopping you from spreading your sweet ass a few times a week to give your old man pleasure."

At that point my dad slammed down into me and I felt his cock pulsating deep inside my anal cavity. He licked my neck and whispered, "I'd like that a lot, son, for you to be available for your old dad's needs."

I just whimpered back, "Yes, sir, daddy." When he pulled his tool out of my backside, he slapped my cheeks and laughed. He told Dr. Handley that he hadn't felt this good in a very long time. My owner then invited my father to return "every few months." He said it would be "good for the boy, having his own father sodomizing his ass will reinforce that he's truly a slave."

Of course Dr. Handley always insisted on watching. The next time my dad visited, my owner placed us on the living room couch, both in our boxer shorts. He wanted my father to experience French kissing with his own son. Soon enough, my dad pushed down on the top of my head and I found myself sucking his cock as it stuck out of his boxers. Then I felt my own boxers pulled down in back and my master was shoving his thick penis up my ass. Dr. Handley told me later that it had given him a special thrill to be fucking my ass in the presence of my own father.

Throughout this time, I was also finishing my high school diploma online. I had never been a very good student and just figured I wasn't all that smart. But Dr. Handley said it was just laziness on my part. Any grade I received below an "A" would earn a paddling from my master. At the end of the first semester, I was paddled so much I could barely sit down in front of the computer for my classes. But then I became more diligent and the punishments became less severe. (I didn't get nearly as many smacks for a B as I did for a D.)

When I turned 18 I was officially a high school graduate and I figured I was done with classes. But my master had other plans. I was registered for online community college classes in slave handling. Most of the students were free boys, with just three slaveboys in the class. The instructor would often order the slaveboys to display themselves for the free boys to observe. In these classes I got consistently high grades. I suppose with all I had learned from Dr. Handley, and all I had experienced as a slaveboy, I knew the techniques and principles taught in this college-level curriculum.

Dr. Handley never put me in a regular job. But he made me available to various men in the community who needed workers. I would be sent to a certain farm to help rebuild a barn, sent to another to install pipes for a busted plumbing system. At harvest time I was much in demand and worked long days. Of course each time I would stay for a few days at some distant farm, I would be used sexually by the man of the house. There were times a father would bring his sons out to the barn where I was sleeping to initiate the boys into using a slaveboy's mouth and ass.

Just around the time of my 18th birthday, Dr. Handley stopped shaving my body. He said he wanted to see and feel me looking like a free boy. I was surprised that I now had chest hair and more hair on my legs. I had first been shaved for class right after my 15th birthday, and had remained hairless since then. But my body had been developing through the years.

I worked out with weights two hours a day. When my master tried to dress me in one of my old free boy shirts, it could no longer fit on my broader chest and shoulders. I couldn't even get into my free boy boxer shorts without ripping a seam. I thought I was through growing at age 15, but three years later I was 5'11" [1.80 m] and 147 lbs [67 kg]. I also had more defined abs, and bigger biceps.

My final few years as Dr. Handley's slaveboy were very domestic. (Not the word you were expecting, was it?) On many days I felt like the old man's wife – well his boi wife – cleaning his house, preparing his dinner, caressing and kissing on the couch, and finally sucking his cock as he drifted off to sleep.

One month before the end of my indenture contract, Dr. Handley and I shared a lovely day. He took me for a long walk through the park. We had a romantic dinner that I had cooked. And we had the most passionate lovemaking session we had shared in a long time. Then he drove me to my father's house.

My master told me this was a special ritual. He was handing me over to my father to serve out the last month of my indenture contract. But the understanding was that my father would have to treat me as a slaveboy for the remainder of that month. That was no problem as my dad was soon fucking my ass in every position imaginable. Just as Dr. Handley had done, my father's treatment of me became more romantic and tender as the days went by.

The day after my slave collar was removed and I was once again a free boy (well free man at this point), I woke up in my father's bed and immediately slid down to suck his cock. It just seemed the most natural thing to do.

But before I could even swallow my dad's load, there was a phone call from Dr. Handley. He told me I had a meeting scheduled with McGhee, the slave trader. I shuddered as I thought about that gross man. He'd visited a few times during my indenture and relished humiliating me and filling me with his filthy uncut cock. I reminded Dr. Handley that I was no longer indentured. "Yes, of course I know that, Chuck. This is a meeting scheduled between two free men. And, you should know in advance that I showed McGhee the excellent work you did in your online slave training classes."

McGhee shook my hand but looked at me in his lascivious way. "Mmmmm, no more buttfucking you, lad. Unless you want to be generous with your free boy ass," he laughed as he gripped my hand tightly.

I pulled my hand away and laughed in response. "It's a free boy ass and I'm not giving it away to anybody." (I didn't tell him the exceptions I would make for Dr. Handley and for my father.)

The big man offered me a job as an apprentice slave trainer. The pay wouldn't be much at first, but it was a stepping stone into a lucrative career path. The previous day I was still a slaveboy. Now I was fully dressed in regular clothes, walking around without a collar. I took the job.

Interesting turn of events – my first job the next day was to break in Ricky, the cute blond boy I knew seven years earlier when I had been his babysitter. "Of course," McGhee clarified, "If you fuck his ass, you will be indentured for lowering the value of this merchandise. But the boy needs as much training as he can get at sucking cocks."

I looked down at the blond youth, dressed in nothing but white briefs and slave collar. My cock throbbed in my black uniform pants. I ordered, "Take it out, boy, and pleasure it with your tongue. Tease it until I'm ready to fuck your face, slaveboy."

He whimpered, "Y-yes, sir." His hands were trembling as he unzipped my pants and reached in for my cock. I leaned down and whispered, "Hey, kid, I went through five years as a slaveboy myself. It's not gonna be all bad." He smiled up at me and stuck out his tongue eagerly licking the tip of my erection. I knew then I was going to enjoy my new career.

Dr. Handley told me that, back on the evening he had selected me as his slaveboy, he had been told the largest boy brothel in Monterey would buy up my three classmates. But that brothel only purchased Connor. The following weekend they had all their high rollers bid on Connor's virgin ass. The big football jock was bent over and sodomized in front of a cheering crowd.

That brothel promises their clients fresh meat, so they sell off boys after 12 months. Apparently someone offered Connor's grandfather extra money to allow for international sales. The old man retired wealthy after that. Connor was sold to a boy brothel somewhere in the middle east. The last anyone heard he had been purchased by a wealthy man on the Arabian Peninsula. We knew we would never see Connor again.

Tino was purchased and shipped back to the east coast. There was a very wealthy fraternity at a very prestigious university, and their members decided that it would be cool to own one of the first 15-year-old slaveboys. I've been told since then that a frat is the worst place for a slaveboy, since college boys are cruel and thoughtless. I hoped for the best for the hard-bodied wrestler.

Lars was bought by two elderly gentlemen who lived along the Humboldt Coast of Eureka. They were doting and grandfatherly to the smooth blond, even while demanding a lot of sex from his slender body. Apparently they became very attached to him and vice versa. When his five year contract was near an end, one of the old men died. Lars said he couldn't leave his other master alone, so he extended his contract for another five years.

When his second master passed away a few years later, the old man left a will freeing Lars and also making the blond boy heir to his fortune. So Lars ended up living a life of luxury in Eureka. As years went by I would run into Lars at slave auctions. I would occasionally recommend a boy I thought he would like. He became a good customer, and I became a houseguest at his beautiful home deep in the forest. We would laugh together about Dr. Handley's class, our lives in Boise, and our experiences in Winnemucca.

Sometimes Lars would joke about detaining me in Eureka. Men like me, who weren't officially gay, would be enslaved if they remained in the gay state longer than 10 days. I'd usually laugh and say, "In your dreams, queer boy." But, to tell the truth, I would jerk off thinking about that very fantasy at night. Now that I was a big tough slave trainer in my late-20s, what would it be like standing stripped on an auction bloc, being felt up and bid on by gays? And why was it that I kept on masturbating and thinking of that same fantasy?

The End

I INVITE ANY AUTHOR WHO WANTS TO WRITE A STORY SET IN THE WORLD OF UNDERSTANDING MODERN INDENTURE!