Eithan Cole - Patrick - Maiocxx - Istari - Dirt - Greenfrog - ^Paolox_ - Daemon Way - Platypus - Jay O. Dickingson - Bara productions

PZA 3rd Anniversary Stories

Summaries and story codes

1. Hampdon Boys, by Eithan Cole (2,500 words / 5 pages)
   Non-consensual story: Mb – non-cons anal
   Grant Richards is a math teacher and secret lover of young boys. Working at an exclusive boys only boarding school, he finally succumbs to his desires and rapes one of his students on the night of his birthday.
2. The Gift of Brotherhood, by Patrick (3,800 words / 7½ pages)
   Consensual BDSM story: bb – cons oral – bond
   The story of two boys, different in nature but bound together by the gift of brotherhood.
3. Roger's Train Ride, by Maiocxx (2,000 words / 4 pages)
   Consensual love story: Mb – cons oral
   A traveling salesman gets a bit more companionship than he had planned during a train ride home.
   Republished as chapter 1 of Roger's Closet
4. Slave's Birthday, by Istari (2,500 words / 5 pages)
   Boy-slave story: Mt – slave anal oral – bond chast humil
   Every year, Slave receives a special birthday gift from his master, but this year it is Slave who has a special idea of his own.
5. My 14th Birthday, by Dirt (3,250 words / 6½ pages)
   Boy-slave story: Mb – cons anal oral – interr bdsm chast spank
   Little Mikie Forrester (not quite 14) had a great summer as a guest (along with his step-dad) at the estate of billionaire Wang Yung-ching near Singapore. Or more importantly where the 24 year old son, Wang Shui-bian (A-bian), took a very sexual interest in the naïve and totally inexperienced Caucasian boy.
6. A Birthday Surprise, by Eithan Cole (3,250 words / 6½ pages)
   Consensual story: Mb – cons oral anal (implied)
   Chris finally gives into his desires and uses his position as a child photographer to seduce young boys. His newest conquest is a seven year old boy named Jackson on his seventh birthday.
7. A Day in the Life of a Dog, A Birthday Story, by Greenfrog (4,000 words / 8 pages)
   Slave boy story: Mb – cons oral anal (implied)
   The daughter of a wealthy Russian gets a young slave boy for her birthday. The boy saves her life.
8. Xander's 13th Birthday Present, by ^Paolox3_ (8,000 words / 16 pages)
   Slave boy story: Mt – cons mast – humil bond chast spank (implied)
   Inspired by the writings of Istari, and especially his epic 'Worldwide Boy Gladiators' story, I wrote this one-shot as a gift for him in thanks for his works. Set in the same alternate universe as 'WBG, the story details what happens when a boy having his 13th birthday wants to order 'Gladi-A-Wear' – the same gear that his idols on the XB-1 Network wear as the real Boy Gladiators. Once his special present arrives, however, and his uncle helps him put it on, Xander discovers that his fantasy present has suddenly turned into harsh reality!
9. Mom and Dad's Thirteenth Wedding Anniversary, by Daemon Way (2,500 words / 5 pages)
   Consensual story: Mb – cons mast oral
   Two men intercede on a couple's wedding anniversary to show their boys what true love is.
10. Birthday Interrogations, by Platypus (1,400 words / 3 pages)
    Non-Consensual story: Mt – non-cons nosex – torture
    Two thirteen year old boys endure a coming-of-age 'birthday' ordeal that seems to have no rhyme or reason.
11. The Gift of the Songbird, by Jay O. Dickingson (2,500 words / 5 pages)
    Consensual story: Mb – cons oral anal
    A powerful and wise ruler in an ancient land is given a boy, a Songbird, as a gift for the thirtieth anniversary of his reign. One of a collection of stories from the ancient and exotic Land of the Tiger Eye.
12. Michael's Birthday Party, by Bara Productions (2,500 words / 5 pages)
    Slave-boy story: tb – slave sex implied – spank
    He might be fourteen but as Provincial Governor, Flavius has unlimited power. He saves his anger and vengeance for those who go behind his back as others have found to their cost in his other adventures.

Publ. Jun 2010
38,000 words (74 pages)

Hampdon Boys

The silence of the corridor was unnerving. Usually so busy and full of loud shouting boys as they hurried from one class to the next or hung around in their little cliques, it felt like the place was deserted.

Well, almost deserted. Summer break had started almost a week earlier and all that remained of the private boys boarding school was the empty buildings and memories of what had been. Only the groundskeeper and a single teacher remained to take care of the estate during the long summer months, along with a solitary student whose parents hadn't cared enough to leave their holiday home in Marse, France.

For Grant Richards, it had been an agonising week knowing that he'd been forced to stay and babysit the little brat just because he'd been in his home group. Grant, or Mr. Richards to his students, was a math teacher at Hampdon Boys, an exclusive boy's boarding school for the children of wealthy parents who couldn't wait to be rid of them and to avoid the responsibility of raising their children. Grant despised the lad's parents and fumed yet again that he had to spend six weeks watching and fantasizing about Darcy with little or no distractions to keep his mind occupied except what he'd dearly love to do with the young eight year old boy.

He'd taken a very special interest in Darcy ever since he arrived at the beginning of the school year and had been placed in his home group. Grant had a dozen boys he supervised and was responsible for in the dorms of the school, playing father, and sometimes even mother to his students, but Darcy was one of those kids that immediately got a place on his top 10 list of cute and fuckable little boys. He was small for his age and looked a lot younger than he was with sandy blond hair and a gorgeous narrow face that shone with innocence and youth. His eyes were dark and captivating and it seemed they were forever on the lookout for mischief. God knows he'd already been in enough trouble in just his first year at Hampdon's for practical jokes and disappearing for hours on end.

And of all things, today was his fucking birthday and although he was frustrated at having to spend six weeks alone with the boy of his dreams but that he couldn't touch, Darcy had tried to cook him a cake and wished him Happy Birthday before heading to bed in his dorm room just two doors down from Grants.

He stopped outside the boy's room and pressed his ear to the door trying to work out if he was asleep or not. Darcy had spent a few of the last six nights sleeping in Grants room on a makeshift cot because he hadn't liked sleeping alone in the dorm when he'd been so used to it being full of his friends. It'd been hard on Grant to know he was only a few feet away as he tried unsuccessfully to sleep. Instead he'd had to subdue his desires and the temptation to even slip a hand under his blanket and cop a brief feel of the boy's hidden treasures.

Satisfied that Darcy was asleep, or at least not making any sounds, Grant headed to his room and shut the door behind him before booting up his PC and pulling an external hard disk drive from a hidden cubbyhole behind a bookshelf. It contained his collection of porn, full of nothing but videos of small boys aged between five and ten years old in various sexual acts with other equally as young boys and men who stripped, sucked and fucked them. He'd befriended another man online many months ago and they shared a sexual interest in young boys and he'd been accepting every bit of boy porn he could get his hands on since.

Once his PC booted up, Grant wasted no time in logging onto his chat program and sending a message to his online friend describing just how worked up and unbelievably horny he was after spending yet another day around Darcy. He'd told the other man all about Darcy from the day he'd first started at the school and how much he lusted after the sexy little boy and what he'd dearly love to be doing with him. Unfortunately after a few minutes he'd not gotten any response even though the small icon showed that his friend was signed in so Grant started one of his favourite videos playing and stripped off his trousers. He pulled out his hard seven inch [18 cm] cock to jack himself while he thought of the boy sleeping only a couple doors down from him. With his eyes glued to the computer screen and watching a boy of perhaps six or seven years old bent double on a bed with his knees around his head. The little lad was being fucked by a man with his ass cheeks obscenely stretched apart as whimpered sounds of pain and pleasure drifted from Grant's speakers as he worked his cock in long strokes and bit his lips in blissful pleasure.

Without any warning or knock, the door swung open and Darcy strode in wearing his flannel PJ's with the top couple buttons undone revealing a small patch of his soft and smooth chest with creamy sun-tanned skin underneath.

"Can I sleep in 3;" Darcy started to say before his mind registered what he was seeing.

Grant jumped up in his seat and his heart exploded with adrenalin. He hurriedly pulled his briefs over his hard and engorged cock and fumbled with the mouse to close the video playing on the screen, but it was far too late. Darcy had seen the image of the boy being fucked with his whole body on display and the huge cock shoved deep in his ass and he looked from the now blank screen to Grant as the man began to stand. He stood there in uncomprehending shock with his mouth hanging open between words as Grant took two steps towards him.

The only thing Darcy could see was the stretched fabric of Grant's briefs covering the man's massive cock and a patch of wetness where his swollen head was. In a sudden flash of alarm, the boy turned and bolted back out the door and ran, not towards his dorm room, but down the corridor and into the dining hall. With no other intention except to catch the fleeing boy, Grant shot after him to try and explain what he'd seen, but as soon as he closed in on the boy and caught him by the shoulders to stop him, Darcy tripped and they both tumbled to the floor with Grant landing heavily on top of him.

With the wind knocked out of him, Darcy tried to cry out but all he could do was choke in a breath as the tears started to stream from the corner of his eyes. He'd fallen on his back and Mr Richards had his full weight on him and grabbed his hands to hold him down. Darcy could feel the hot breath over his face as his teacher panted and looked him in the eyes with an expression the boy didn't understand. Why was Mr Richards watching a video of a boy his age like that and why was his penis hard? Darcy knew what sex was of course, you don't grow up in a boys school without hearing the older boys brag about what they'd done with girls, but he didn't know that a man could have sex with a boy and it frightened him. Did Mr Richards want to do that with him?

"Please 3; Mr Richards. I don't want to." Darcy begged through laboured breaths as he struggled and squirmed under the man.

"Don't want to what?" Grant asked, realising for the first time in his life that he was capable of raping this young and sexy little boy beneath him. And then it struck him. He was going to.

"I 3; I don't want to do what they were doing on your computer."

"Yeah? Too fucking bad Darcy." Grant told him. "You're going to give me a proper birthday present. Right fucking now!"

Making sure he had the boy in a firm grip, Grant pushed himself up and pulled Darcy to his feet. He was so God damned horny and hot for the little fucker that he didn't care the consequences. So what if he went to hell because of what he was about to do. His life was already over. Darcy had seen what he'd seen and that was it. He'd at least get a little something before the cops came to haul him off.

Grant pushed his prized boy a couple steps towards the closest table and held him down by the neck so his face was pushed into the cold surface and kicked his feet apart.

"NO! Please Mr Richards 3;" Darcy began to cry. "Please noooo 3;"

Fuck! Grant couldn't believe how much the boy's crying and begging turned him on. Cry all you want Darcy, no one can hear you. Grant thought as he yanked the front of his briefs down and tucked them under his big low hanging balls. You just keep screaming you little bastard!

For the first time in a long career or teaching, Grant was finally able to touch one of his students with more than just a brief pat on the head. With his rock solid seven inch [18 cm] cock free of his briefs, Grant pressed himself up against Darcy's ass and rubbed his cock into the deep valley of his crack while holding the boy down with one hand and the other roaming over his back down to the top of his flannel PJ bottoms. He struggled to pull them down with the fabric catching on the table between Darcy's hips but eventually got them lowered enough to reveal the creamy smooth skin of the boy's ass.

As much as he wanted it, Grant knew there would be no chance to suck the boy's tiny little cock. The little shit would struggle too much and besides, he wanted to get off inside him as soon as fucking possible.

"You ready Darcy?" Grant said to the boy from over his shoulder. "This is going to hurt. A lot!"

"No! Please Sir 3; don't!" Darcy whimpered. "I won't tell Sir, I promise!"

"Yes you fucking will, so I'm getting what I want before you do."

Grant pulled back and spat a huge wade of spit into his fingers and slapped them between Darcy's cheeks feeling for the tight opening of his virgin hole. With a single thrust he shoved his middle finger into the boy's ring and felt him clench down as he cried out in pain.

"Oh God 3; Yeah Darcy 3; you're so fucking hot in there." Grant moaned. "I can't wait to fuck you."

"Please no 3;" The boy sobbed. The pain of the man's finger was much worse than the tight grip of his hands around his neck holding him down and the rough scrapping of the table on his face. He knew what his teacher was going to do; he'd seen it on the computer for a second and he couldn't imagine his bum hole could let something as big as that go inside. He squeezed his eyes shut at the pain as his body heaved with his sobs and his nose ran with hot sticky mucus down his face and onto the table.

With his lustful desire reaching boiling point, Grant pulled his slimy finger from Darcy's warm and inviting ass and slid his cock up and down the crack of his cheeks before pulling one glorious mound apart with his finger and directing his throbbing cock to the boy's puckered little virgin rose bud. Without a word of warning or hesitation, Grant pushed his cock in hard. His long thick shaft bent in the middle as he tried to enter the boy's hot hole and he used his hand to straighten himself out to thrust in. All the while, Darcy's screams of pain roared and echoed in the dining hall which only fuelled Grant's desires and sexual appetite. If he was going to do this, he may as well live his ultimate fantasy with screams of pain and crying included.

No way in fucking hell was Grant going to be able to bury his entire shaft into the young eight year old boy, but he'd fuck him as hard as he could nonetheless. In only a few short seconds Grant had half his length inside Darcy's tight chute and he began to pull out, holding the boy's ass cheek in one hand and thrust back in. The scream that accompanied his thrust was like music to his ears and he began to pound in and out of the young boy held down over a table that they'd both eaten cake at just a couple hours earlier. Grant could not believe how fantastic it felt to be fucking a small preteen boy and his fat cock twitched inside him, his balls tingled and the rush of electricity began its brief but intense journey through his body.

With the most powerful orgasm Grant had ever experienced in his long life, he shot his load of hot sticky cum into Darcy's ass in thick ropy strands that exploded from his head and sprayed the boy's bowels. He kept up his thrusting in and out of the hot ass just to feel the tightness of the boy for as long as possible before pulling out and wiping his head over the creamy white skin of Darcy's cheeks.

Exuberantly happy at having at long last fucked a boy for the very first time, Grant tucked his cock away into his briefs and pulled Darcy up off the table. His face was a mess of snot and tears and his hair was matted and ruffled but at least he'd stopped screaming. Grant dragged him out of the dining hall back towards his room and pushed him down onto the cot he'd slept in. The boy flinched as he sat on the cot and lent to one side so he wasn't putting any pressure on his ass. His bum felt like it was on fire, but only around his entrance and it was fading slowly.

While he searched for anything to tie Darcy up with, Grant made a mental list of what he needed to do. He had to get his passport, get all his money from the bank and make a run over the border into Mexico where he could disappear. No way was he sticking around here that was for sure. He had enough to live a good enough life there, but it was worth it wasn't it?

Besides, he'd have a few days to plan it and enjoy Darcy over and over again before he vanished.

Now that's what I call a fucking Birthday present! Grant thought to himself happily.

The Gift of Brotherhood

René had already mixed the last bucket of sand and water; ready to finish the sand castle he had worked on for almost an hour. He didn't see the boy on his toy JCB ploughing through the sand; like always René was totally focused on his task. So he was completely startled as the JCB's bucket trashed his little castle. Most boys of barely 4 years of age would have started crying but not René. He just looked blankly at the boy who had just destroyed his work.

"Come!" the other boy said.

Peter got off his toy, carried it the short way to the paved walkway and sat down on it again. He waited for René to collect his shovel and bucket, took it from him as the boy reached the walkway and lifted his feet off the ground. René put his little hands on the other boy's shoulders and pushed toy and rider up to the car park where Al and Steve, the boys' fathers, were waiting.

Both men didn't react to the scene anymore. It had been that way since both families first met about six months ago. Steve, René's dad, had moved with his son into a small house at the corner of the street where Al lived with his wife and little Peter. It was Peter who had first brought little René with him to play in the garden. The two men met as Steve came looking for his son and quickly became friends too.

The two boys soon became inseparable. They spent every free minute together. But one thing didn't get lost to the adults. René always followed Peter's lead; they always did what Peter wanted. Even at home René obeyed his father without question. He clearly lacked initiative. When alone, he often just starred into space, not doing anything of his own. Steve took him to several doctors but they couldn't find anything wrong. One thought about autism but that didn't match with the boy's overall behaviour.

René was bright. He started reading at two and wrote his first full sentence at barely three. School was no challenge for the boy. He quickly became bored and the teachers gave him extra work. Peter did well, too, but couldn't match his friend academically. But he was the one in charge. Being only a week apart they started in the same form. Right from the beginning he made it clear to everyone that René was HIS friend and his friend alone. Since Peter was the biggest and strongest boy in his year nobody wanted to challenge him.

Of course René sat next to Peter. Peter would always sit between René and the other kids, in the classroom, in the school bus or anywhere else. Whenever possible, the two boys shared one seat, with René sitting between Peter's legs. Peter had always wrapped an arm or two around his friend and held him closely. When not told otherwise, they would even eat from the same plate, with Peter feeding them both. René didn't seem to mind; he never complained.

Their parents had stopped trying to intervene long ago. Everyone had realised it was a win-win situation for both boys. René would be lost without a strong mate; clearly would be a prime target for bullying. With Peter he was protected and cared for. On the other side Peter profited from René's brightness. René always helped Peter with his schoolwork and Peter came along, too, with only the best marks.

Despite his power over his friend, Peter never really abused that power. Of course, being a kid, there were times when he simply 'forgot' doing some chores, knowing well René would pick up after him. But he never used his friend as servant or cheated with his schoolwork by making René do it for him. Both boys grew up happily, and that was all that mattered to their parents.

However, happiness didn't last forever. A couple of days before René's twelfth birthday Steve took his son out for a vacation trip, just father and son. They had a great time together but René sensed there was more about the trip than just holiday. First it was a strange time in the middle of the school year (of course René didn't mind missing some days in school) and second when he awoke at night he had heard his father crying.

René guessed it had something to do with his visit to a new doctor a few days before the trip and he was right, at least partially. He was part of the problems Steve had. The company Steve had worked for and, therefore, had moved to that little town where they lived, was about to close down. Steve got an exciting new offer but it meant a lot of travelling around. That wouldn't be such a problem with a normal twelve year old boy but according to the doctor it was with René.

The doctor, a child psychologist, had told him frankly that René would never function alone. He said René was the case with the deepest level of submissiveness he had ever seen. Short, René would do whatever anyone told him to do, no matter who or what. It would be too dangerous to leave him alone for an extended period. Steve wouldn't believe but the doctor had arranged a simple experiment.

He had told René to sit in the waiting room and read a book. Then he sent his colleague, whom René hadn't met, into the room. Steve and the doctor watched the scene through a surveillance system. The door wasn't shut so the could hear every word. The other doctor simply said to René, "Boy, strip and show me your parts."

Any other boy of that age would have protested, ignored the man or fled out of the room, but René just laid the book down, stood up and dropped his shorts and underpants. The other doctor made him parade around the room and told him afterwards to dress again and go back reading. A minute later René sat again on his chair and dug himself into the book as if nothing had happened.

"The boy needs guidance and protection 24/7. If you can't do that yourself you have to find someone who can," the doctor had stated to the shocked Steve. "In other words, find him a master."

The longer Steve had thought about the doctor's words, the more he realized René had already chosen his master. Long and emotional talks with Al and his wife followed and finally they came to the only possible conclusion. At the evening of René's birthday Steve finally broke the news to his son.

"René, I have to go away for a while and you will live with Peter and his family when we return. They are fine people and they will care for you. And always remember son, your Daddy loves you." As the doctor had predicted, René just looked at his father for while and then simply said. "I love you too, Daddy."

It was an order and René obeyed.

Peter was on the verge of losing it. Ten days without his friend René were hell, but now, even on his birthday, René still wasn't there. Peter couldn't remember a birthday party without René and he wouldn't accept one. He was in such a foul mood Al had to spank him soundly to bring him back to reality. Sitting in the living room alone he was about to cry a second time on his birthday. This time not because of a stinging backside but because of the realisation that all the presents he got from family and friends didn't mean anything to him without René.

All the aunts and uncles, his granny and some adult friends of the family who came over for tea were already gone and Peter's mother was preparing dinner. Peter didn't care. He wanted René and he wanted him now. Just as the first tear started to drop out of the corner of his eye Al came in and sat down next to his son. He put an arm around the boys shoulder and pulled him close.

"Peter, you know your friend René is not like other boys."

Peter looked surprised at his dad and nodded.

Al got up and pulled his son on his feet too. Slowly walking through the house Al added,

"René is a very bright boy but needs a lot of help otherwise. You know, he is most happy when someone tells him what to do. It's very hard for him to make decisions. Therefore, René needs someone who takes care for him and all the decisions he will have to make. He needs someone who helps him growing up and become a man. Do you understand what I mean?"

Peter gulped and nodded again, this time the tears flew openly. Peter understood. He understood he wouldn't see René again.

Al knew his son was hurting. He had taken Peter to the same shrink who had examined René. The doctor had confirmed that Peter, like René, was gay. There might be a chance that Peter turned out bi, but René definitively was male orientated. Al didn't need a doctor to see that Peter's love of life was René.

Father and son reached a door that led to a room in the attic of their house. The room used to be Al's room and had always been forbidden for Peter. Al had worked hard to transform the room for his son.

"Son, you may have noticed there aren't any birthday presents from us parents, and from Steve and René. The reason for this is we think you are now old enough to take over some more responsibility; not only for your life but also for others. For this your old room is too small."

Peter looked at Al uncomprehendingly.

"Peter, behind this door are two things waiting for you. First, a new, bigger room and second, your new brother."

Peter's eyes went as big as saucers.

"Happy birthday, son!" Al said as he opened the door.

It took Peter some seconds to realise that in the middle of the large room stood, clad in only white shorts, a white t-shirt and a red ribbon tied around his chest, his friend René. Peter's eyes went from René to Al and back. Eventually they stayed at Al and looked at him questioningly. Al just smiled and nodded. That was all Peter needed; he stormed into the room screaming

"Reeeenééééé!!!!"

Hours later Al finished tugging the two boys into the huge bed. It was way too big for two twelve year old boys but Al knew they would need the space soon. Peter had placed his arm under René's head and around his shoulders.

"O.K., sons. This is your new room and your new bed that you'll share as brothers. However, there are some rules. As the bigger and stronger one you'll be in charge, Peter. But I also will hold you responsible for your and your brother's behaviour. Are you o.k. with that, boys?"

"I am Dad," Peter said quietly.

René said nothing; he just rolled his head on Peter's shoulder and smiled. It was the first deep and content smile since René parted from his Dad two days before. René had stayed in that room, helping Al to finish it. He had missed his dad but even more he had missed Peter. Now they were together again and brothers. That was all René needed.

Al and René had talked a lot those two days. Though René could probably tell how to build a rocket without thinking he was completely innocent when it came to sexuality. Nevertheless the doctor had said René was clearly gay and there was no reason to doubt that, if you ever saw the two boys together.

Al kissed the two boys goodnight. Peter brought his face close to René's and he gently placed a kiss on his new brother's lips, not knowing how René might react. But the deep blue eyes of the other boy told Peter everything. Peter hadn't been that happy for a long, long time. By the time Al reached the door and turned again before switching the lights off, Peter and René were already in dreamland.

Peter's face was gleaming with joy as he looked at the cake with 13 candles on it. He gave René, who was standing on his left, a quick glance. Peter held his brothers right hand with his left, fingers entangled. René just smiled. Peter took a big breath and blew the candles out.

René looked at his big brother in awe. Though René was one week older then Peter, his brother was everything that made a big brother. Not only was he taller and stronger; he had the courage and power to protect his brother and was smart enough to stay out of trouble; at least most of the times.

René's birthday party a week earlier was held just by his new family, since apart from his father René had no other relatives living nearby. His only friend was his brother. Nevertheless he got the same cake with 13 candles, but he needed three attempts to blow them all out. The rest of the day brought lots of hugs and kisses. It went rather emotional as Peter played a DVD that was sent from China. Steve had recorded his birthday greetings on one of his business trips and sent his love and congratulations to his son.

When Peter had cut the cake he sat down on his chair, pulling René between his legs. René leaned back against his brother while Peter took the fork. Peter's other hand had found its way under René's t-shirt and started to fondle the boys chest and nipples. René rested his head on Peter's shoulder and moaned silently as he felt his little pole stiffen.

Al looked at the miserable heap of boy sitting in the corner of the living room with his face in his palms. That wasn't right, Al knew. This day was meant to be a happy one for René; his 14th birthday shouldn't be spent crying. The punishment that was meant for Peter didn't work, at least not for him alone. By grounding the errant boy to his room alone, Al realised he was punishing René too, if not even more. There was no way René would enjoy this day without Peter.

So Al climbed the stairs and opened the door to the boy's room. Peter was lying face down on his bed. Obviously he had cried himself to sleep. Whether it was out of anger or out of guilt, Al didn't know, though he hoped it was the latter. He wasn't mad at his son any more, but disappointed. For the first time together Peter had truly abused his power over his friend and had actually hurt René. By separating the two boys he had intended to give René the space to work the incident out but instead René had only blamed himself.

René loved to be tied up and helpless and the boys played frequently. But that morning Peter broke the iron rule, not to leave the victim alone, ever. It was pure luck Al's wife went upstairs and heard the boy coughing and crying. Peter had left René hogtied and gagged, but when the boy's strength ended he almost chocked. Luckily no permanent damage was done to René's health. While Mom took René downstairs, Al scolded Peter and told him to stay in his room and out of sight.

"Peter, wake up son. We have to talk," Al said, rubbing his son's bare shoulders.

When Al returned to the living room Peter followed slowly, clutching his bum with both hands. His eyes were red from crying. Al held the door open for him, pointing to René who sat in the far corner. When Peter saw how his friend suffered, he forgot his own misery and ran over to him. Pulling him into a tight hug and rocking him back and forth Peter cried,

"Oh René my love, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me, it will never happen again."

Peter had kicked off his shoes so he could feel the grass on his bare feet as he ran with his boy to the top of the hill. René held Peter's hand and carried his friends' shoes around his neck. He loved the strong scent of the well-worn trainers. He loved the scent of Peter's strong body. He loved Peter with all his heart.

As usual René wore just a plain white t-shirt and white shorts. Peter liked the outfit and that was o.k. for him. He felt the grass on his bare feet too since he didn't wear any shoes out of school. René didn't mind that either; Peter wanted him to be barefoot so he was.

Both boys were panting as they reached the summit so Peter sat down on a piece of rock, pulling his beloved boy between his legs as usual. Looking at the stunning view in front of them they quickly caught their breath again. Peter was happy to have his boy with him and René was happy because Peter was. Holding René with two arms his fingers slowly dug into the front of Peter's shorts.

René had got used to have his friend's hands in his pants long ago but still enjoyed every moment. Peter loved the feel of the René's smooth and hairless groin, balls and dick so René made sure to cut down every little hair that dared to show up down there. His pits were still naturally hairless but if Peter wanted it, René would shave there too.

Feeling his friend's hands tugging at his shorts René lifted his butt so the tiny garment could slide down. He shivered as the gentle breeze caressed his now exposed boy parts. At fifteen, being naked out of the house felt so naughty; his boy dick rose immediately.

Knowing what was coming next René lifted his arms so Peter could pull the shirt over his head. Following the drill he loved so much René turned around and sank on his knees between Peter's legs. Begging Peter with his eyes René reached out for Peter's shorts. Closing his eyes in pleasure as René's soft lips enclosed his cock, Peter sighed, "Oh brother, you are the best birthday present every year."

René lay on his back with his legs spread up in the air. His ankles and wrists were held by steel chains and leather cuffs. His head was completely covered with a black leather hood; there were just two holes for breathing under his nose. René had trembled when the hood with the big gag had been fitted, but the visit to the dungeon was the birthday present he had asked for. It had been difficult for Al and Peter to find a studio that allowed a sixteen year old to visit but eventually they succeeded. René usually didn't ask for anything, he was just content with what he was given, so Peter could tell René wanted to try this out badly. Peter had a long discussion with his parents about this; all three agreed very reluctantly.

René had been white as a sheet and Peter was about to wet his pants as they entered the master's dungeon. The master was huge and, with his leather attire, he intimidated the boys just with his presence. But he had been more than gentle and understanding when he approached the subject of the boys' visit. Nevertheless all the chains, whips and other torture equipment had made the boys think twice. The master took no bullshit and before the boys knew what happened there was no way back (of course there was, the master wouldn't have done any harm to the boys).

Both boys were frightened out of their wits but their cocks stood out like flagpoles right from the start. The master had started lightly with soft paddles and whips but soon it became serious and Peter fought hard not to cry. He knew his love was hurting and not only not helping him but actually causing the pain was almost too much for the boy. But the master was adamant and Peter continued. What troubled the teen most was that whipping his boy made him really horny. He felt as if his cock would explode any second.

The master could see both boys were very close. It was time to finish up. He selected a small whip designed for hitting someone's balls. Peter resisted; he couldn't believe what the man wanted him to do. The master tried to reason with him but to no avail. Suddenly the master brought his whip down hard on the table where René was lying and shouted, "Do it!"

Peter jumped and, out of shock, he lashed René right on his tender balls. That was all the boy needed, his cock erupted in a mighty orgasm and shot after shot flew high in the air and landed somewhere on the floor. The master stuck the shaft of his whip between Peter's legs and brought it up quickly. The startled boy hadn't time to react before he too went over the edge and creamed his pants like he seldom did before.

"Happy birthday, boys!" the master said as he left them alone to recover.

The waiter watched the two boys who had taken the table in the alcove of the small restaurant. Both were dressed in shirts and slacks but while the taller one wore black slippers the other was barefoot. The first boy did all the talking while the other just listened and nodded. When he approached the table to take the orders he saw that the barefoot boy wore a black leather collar around his neck.

"I'll take the onion steak with potatoes and a glass of Coke. My friend will have the spring salad."

When the food and drink arrived the boy who made the order poured a glass of water from the jug on the table and gave it to the other. Then he raised his own glass and said, "To my one and only love, my brother, my friend. Thank you for five wonderful years. I pray to god for many, many years more. Cheers!"

The other boy blushed deeply and lifted his glass shyly.

"To my brother and my only love. Thank you for everything you did for me. Happy birthday, Master! I'll be yours for ever."

Putting their glasses down they reached out for each other's necks and brought their faces together. Once their lips touched the other's, the world around them disappeared from their minds. They didn't hear the cheers and claps from friends and family who had joined them for their party.

Slave's Birthday

"Thank you, boy," I said as I pushed my chair back from the table and breathed a contented sigh. Slave, my thirteen-year-old house-boy, dutifully refilled my wine glass, then stood at attention again beside me, his hands behind his back, his shapely legs spread wide, his head bowed, his breathing slow and measured. He was naked with the exception of the steel collar around his slender neck and the matching cuffs welded permanently around his slim wrists and ankles. A short length of connecting chain ran between his shackled feet, long enough not to impede him during his long list of daily chores, but short enough to ensure that his movements were always careful and deliberate. After six years of enslavement, they were mostly decorative. Slave had learned to manage being chained at all times and he was perfectly trained and obedient. To say he worshiped me would not be an understatement. There was no thought in my mind, or his, that he would ever run away.

His enslavement papers, which were locked away in my office upstairs, indicated that he was originally called Ethan, but since the day I bought him at a state auction, he has only answered to the name 'Slave'. Human boys have names. Slave boys do not. Taking his name from him may have been cruel, but he needed to learn and adapt quickly to the new circumstances of his life. His parents had been deeply in debt. He was their only valuable asset. And so at the tender age of eight he ceased to be Ethan Myers and became Slave, my little house-boy. Occasionally I will still test him, asking him his name. Until just recently the boy would always hesitate. I would see the name Ethan forming on his lips before he stopped himself. Lately however, the answer has always come instantly. "Slave," he will answer confidently in his soft adolescent tenor. It is my belief that this is his natural place in life, and that if fate had not intervened when he was younger, he would have volunteered for enslavement himself when he turned thirteen.

Today is a big day. It is Slave's fourteenth birthday. After I unlocked his cage this morning, hosed him down in the front yard with ice cold water and prepared him for his morning walk, I informed him of this happy fact. He smiled behind his muzzle-gag and his deep blue eyes danced with boyish excitement. Every morning, I take Slave for a walk around the neighborhood, leading the boy on a heavy chain attached to his collar, while the chains at his ankles clink and scrape along the sidewalk as he shuffles along behind me. He remains muzzled of course, as the law requires, and his hairless genitals remain confined within their small steel chastity device. He is plugged, naturally, and wears a special latex jockstrap during our walks. The jockstrap has absorbent padding up front, as the town has rather strict rules regarding slaves having accidents or urinating in public places.

There's a slave park at the end of our block, where slaveboys are allowed to run free and unchained, under their master's supervision of course. Slave likes it there, as he gets to run around and cavort with the other boy slaves in the neighborhood, including his younger brother who is owned by a nice lesbian couple just down the street. Slave is always sweaty and tired on the walk back, but always happy to have seen his brother again and gotten a chance to just be a boy for a short while. I consider myself an enlightened master, and I believe in looking after the boy's mental as well as physical health.

Slave knows not to answer me as he stands beside the table and watches as I empty my glass. He is generally forbidden to speak unless I directly ask him a question. Again I hold out the empty glass and again he refills it. I sit back with a smile and again realize what a handsome boy he is. He has a slender frame, barely five feet [1.50 m] tall, with nice firm young muscles, a tight abdomen just begging to be kissed, a small perfectly formed navel, tiny nipples pierced with golden rings connected by a slender chain. His flawless skin is nicely bronzed from all the time he spends outdoors. All this boyish beauty is topped with an unkempt mop of light-brown hair that always seems to be in his eyes and gives him a rascally appearance that belies his submissive nature.

Slave is still naturally hairless. His body is silky smooth, from his face all the way down to his adorable toes. The sound of his changing voice though tells me he will soon be sprouting a few hairs above his genitals, which are have recently begun to grow at an impressive rate. I suspect that within a few months he will have outgrown the cock-cage I put on him when he turned ten. I generally ignore his boyish sex, but today I playfully jiggle the small metal cage and feel the surprising weight of his hairless balls. His cock is painfully hard within the confines of its unyielding prison and I can see the need and confused desperation burning behind his eyes.

Once a year, on his birthday, I remove his cock-cage for a few hours. During this time he is allowed to have an erection and to play with himself and bring himself to orgasm as many times as he can before I lock his cock up for another year. Last year he managed four very messy wet orgasms before his cock-cage was put back on. The year before that, Slave was still a dry cummer and he managed to feverishly stroke himself to nine dry orgasms before his little boycock got too red and too sore. I actually couldn't put his cage back on right away and had to lock his hands into special mitts to ensure he could not fiddle with himself. It is always fun watching the boy jerk himself off, such fierce concentration and desperate effort. He knows it will be another twelve months before gets another chance and he always goes for it with unbridled enthusiasm.

I am suspecting this year will be no different, but my young slave boy has a special surprise in store for me 3;

After he cleans up the kitchen, Slave presents himself to me.

"Ready for your birthday present?" I ask gently.

"Yes, sir!" the boy replies with enthusiasm.

I hand him a single die. To make things more fun and interesting, each year previously he's thrown a pair of dice to determine how many hours of sexual freedom he will receive. Thus, on previous birthdays he was always guaranteed at least two hours. He stares at the single die in his hand this year and gets the message. An unfortunate throw and he'll end up with only one hour. He does not complain, but I can see the worry and disappointment on his sweet face.

"Go ahead," I say.

He clutches the die in his left hand and throws it softly onto the coffee table. Immediately his shoulders droop and his lips curl into an unhappy frown. There is only one lonely dot showing on the die.

"Well, one hour is better than nothing," I add philosophically. "You'll just have to get right down to business, won't you?"

"Yes, sir," Slave replies. His momentary dejection is gone, replaced by the impending excitement of having his boyhood freed for the first time in twelve months.

The boy follows me dutifully into my den where I unlock my safe and remove the small key that will release his young cock from the chastity device.

"Ready?"

He nods excitedly. I smile at him and tussle his hair. I place the key in the lock and with a click I gently remove the cage.

Slave's cock has never been overly large, nor unusually small, just a nice average healthy boy's penis, tightly circumcised. But it is clear that some adolescent growth has definitely begun to take hold. It hardens instantly, reaching a slim throbbing five inches [12½ cm]. Slave gasps as he gazes down in amazement at his erection.

"It's way bigger than last year, sir," he says, almost giddy as his cock bobs and throbs and swells even harder, pointing up at a forty-five degree angle. His hairless balls hang low. I cradle them gently.

"It certainly is, boy," I reply. "Now show me how it works. The clock is ticking." I point to the clock on the wall. He stares at it nervously for a moment, as if he's unsure.

"Go ahead, slave. It's your hour."

"I can do it any way I want, master?"

"Those are the rules. Just for this hour."

He gazes at me and a softness comes to his blue eyes. He takes a few tentative steps toward me, his erection bouncing comically up and down. He reaches out with his slender arms and unbuttons my shirt. I understand and help by sliding the shirt off my shoulders. Slave drops to his knees and unbuttons my pants and slides the zipper down. He pulls them down my hips, revealing my rapidly hardening eight inches [20 cm].

"It's so big," I hear him whisper. He moves in close, his own cock still hard and throbbing, and oozing pre-cum now. He kisses my cock with his soft pink lips and slowly takes it into his mouth.

"You don't have to do this right now," I say. "You're going to run out of time."

He pulls off for a moment and looks at me with loving worshipful eyes. "You said I could do whatever I want."

"So I did." I close my eyes and enjoy the soft moist ministrations of the boy's mouth, lips and tongue. I run my fingers tenderly through his hair. Such an erotic sight, his slim, smallish, hairless body kneeling in front of me, my thick manhood stuffed into his small perfectly shaped mouth. After all these years, the boy has become an expert cocksucker, but my surprise at this loving gesture makes it all the more arousing.

After a few more moments of this dizzying treatment, the boy pulls off, stands gracefully and turns his back to me. He bends over and spreads his adorable butt-cheeks, still a soft shade of red from his daily morning spanking. He grunts and points desperately to his butt-plug. He knows that even under these special rules he is never to touch that thing himself.

"You want that out?"

"Yes, master."

I grab the end of the latex plug and pull it out in a quick single motion. The boy yelps and groans but quickly recovers. He turns again to face me, his eyes moist with tears from the pain of the plug being yanked out so abruptly. His cock remains hard. He has not touched it yet, even once. He moves close to me again, pressing himself against me. His head comes up just to my chest. I kiss him atop his head as he wraps his left hand eagerly around my cock, stroking me until I begin to produce a steady stream of pre-cum. His own slim smooth boyish cock is leaking profusely now, a long slender gossamer stream of clear fluid dangling from the beautiful tip. He stands on his tippy-toes now, allowing our erections to touch. The feel of the boy's hot hard cock against my own is electrifying for us both. My hairy eight inches [20 cm] dwarfs his small delicate rod. We stare down at them together, then he looks up at me shyly.

"Mine's so small," he says softly.

"It's just the right size for a little slave boy," I reassure him. He seems to be comforted by this. He gently pushes against my chest and gestures with his blue eyes to the soft rug beneath our feet. I understand that he wants me to lie down, and I do so. Almost immediately the slightly built hundred-and-five-pound [47 kg] fourteen-year-old is straddling my middle. My erection is standing straight up against his rear end. He smiles at me, a wicked lustful smile I've never seen from him before. He lifts himself up a bit and moves back, squatting now directly over my cock, holding himself up with his smooth hairless thighs.

I know what he's about to do and warn him. "You should get some lube first."

"No time," he says breathlessly, his erection still throbbing and leaking. "Besides, I wanna really feel it. I 3; want it to hurt a bit 3;"

Without any further ceremony, Slave lowers himself onto my cock. The feeling as it enters his tight warm tunnel is intoxicating. He grunts and whines and cries and slowly, surely, takes more of me inside him. With a final effort and loud shriek I feel his balls resting on my groin and his beautiful smooth butt resting on my thighs.

He smiles through his tears. He still has not touched his cock.

"Fuck yourself, boy," I say.

And he does. Brilliantly. Fast then slow, hard then soft, moaning and mewling and licking his tongue over his lips.

"Oh, ohhhhh, ooooaaghh," all the way down he goes, then almost lifting his butt completely off my dick before slamming back down again, nearly crushing his growing balls and pounding his little adolescent prostate. The boy's pre-cum is all over my stomach now. "Getting close, master!" he shouts hysterically.

"Go for it, little slave," I encourage, my own orgasm building to the point of no return.

I explode inside him as his five-inch [12½ cm] cock erupts, shooting violent spasms of boyish seed all over my chest and stomach. The first shot of the boy's ejaculation actually hits me in the face, and I lick his fresh warm goo from my lips. Slave shouts with joy and continues to grind his butt against my deflating dick, coaxing yet more fluid out of his cock and mine. He's still half hard, even after his orgasm. At no time did he ever touch it with his hands, nor does he do so now. Tears are streaming freely from his eyes. A boy overwhelmed by feelings and emotions so strong and so new and so unfamiliar, yet all so wonderful. He slowly lifts himself off me. On his hands and knees he dutifully licks my cock clean. Then he collapses on top of me, resting his head against my chest. I look at the clock. He still has half an hour left, but he won't be needing it this year. I stroke his hair as his breathing slows.

I reach for his butt-plug and push it back inside him. I gently smack his beautiful well-fucked ass. Fourteen times. One for each year of his life. Then I give him six more, a little harder, one for each year since he became my perfect little slave.

"Happy Birthday, Slave," I say.

My 14 ^th Birthday

My name is (or was) Mikie Forrester. And up until I was 14, I had lived a pretty average life (in spite of losing both birth parents), in an affluent neighborhood outside Victoria, B.C. That's in western Canada. I was just a normal gay kid who at near 14 was ecstatic to learn that my step-dad (Terrence Gavin) was actually going to take me with him to Singapore for the summer.

I suppose that I had been just a naive young teen. And from one point of view my total undoing occurred because I was not only a horny 14 year old – though I probably looked more like 11 or 12, I was such a skinny little runt – and what turned me on was other boys. (OK I only fibbed a bit. At the time this story started I was a several months shy of 14. And I was VERY so wanting to finally have sex with another boy).

As I was saying, I was a horny young teen. Of course, I still AM a horny young teen. I am writing this account on my 17th birthday, which is also my third year anniversary, in part to practice writing in the new language I most definitely have been required to learn. (Someone else will have translated it into English if you are treading that version). You will also soon understand just what anniversary I am speaking of. Anyway, the main starting point was when my dad got this great contract with a billionaire in Singapore. Well he's actually my step-dad but I guess we get along all right. I stay out of his way and he doesn't hassle me – too much. (He's all business and profits). Too bad Mom ain't around anymore. But that's another story.

So here I was given a choice between a boring camp or an exciting summer in an exotic new country. And damn, all those Oriental guys sure turned me on! And that IS part of this story. As I said, I will be 14 soon and dad promised that since he was getting a great bonus at the end of the summer, my birthday present would be quite a surprise. Though I suspect that the surprise I eventually got was not in my dad's mind at that time. My dad used money and gifts all the time substituting them for not really being my dad. Heck, I was a young teen – I was easily 'bought.'

It was only several days before my actual 14th birthday when he spoke again of a really BIG surprise. By that time we'd been over here over two months and I was finally getting where I could actually communicate a bit in their strange lilting language. Of course so many here actually speak English too. I was really liking this place. Quite nice and clean for such a big city. And the surrounding estates – just wow! In fact that's where I'd been living, at the estate of my dad's employer, Wang Yung-ching, and more importantly where his son, Wang Shui-bian also lived. And on whom he doted for some inexplicable reason in spite of him being the third son. The son's friends called him A-bian. Sort of a nick name, but don't get me started in all the very complicated name thing here. It seems that a boy can take all kinds of different names like school names, milk names, courtesy name, and many more. VERY confusing even after being here two months. But who cares. A-bian was gorgeous. And partly my undoing so to speak. He was just 24, though he looked so much younger. It was he who started showing me first his father's estate, and then the city, and I was to later discover he was almost as crazy into boys as I was. He'd eventually been quite direct. He automatically assumed that since his dad was my dad's boss, I was subordinate to him automatically. I didn't mind. Heck I was gradually discovering that not only was I gay, I was definitely turned on by aggressive older boys. It seemed the more I was expected to 'obey,' the more I seemed to be turned on.

It all started only a week after we'd arrived – my dad almost totally occupied with the company's computer network, upgrading the system with the latest security software – when A-bian sort of trapped me in one of the opulent dressing rooms next to the indoor pool reserved exclusively for family. I was quite taken not just by A-bian himself, but his so assured authority. This guy simply had whatever he wanted. I was very soon to learn that it was me he now wanted. By this time we had been quite close for several intense days of companionship and I was suddenly made aware of his intentions – to think all that previous touching of my body I'd never glommed onto – when after a swim he brought me into the dressing room and in a strange voice almost commanded me to strip. Just the tone of his voice and his bearing seemed to brook absolute obedience. And of course my innate boy horniness. I'd only gotten limited glimpses of his naked body and I REALLY liked what I had seen. Damn, barely a hair in sight – just a very lean but toned older 'teen' looking body. He was a bit darker than many Chinese (Ok again, he was Malaysian), but to me he was almost perfect. His black straight hair atop of his oval shaped face, and those penetrating black eyes. I found myself so frequently wishing that I could loose my butt-hole virginity to him. But I was too fearful to actually do anything to let him know how I felt.

So that was why I was almost in shock at his next words.

"Boy. You will now strip."

"Strip?"

His face became almost unreadable: "I know about your looks when you thought I'd not notice. I want you right now. So yes, strip!"

I stripped, almost ripping my swim trunks off in my sudden hormonal craze. For some reason I was even hornier than embarrassed. And there was just something about HOW he was acting towards me. It seemed to turn me on even more. Soon I was standing there with my five inch [12½ cm] boner jutting outward as hard as it's ever been. I swear the skin seemed about to split!

"Stand still boy." The word he used for boy signified (as far as I could discover later) a form which implied a significant difference in class and station. You can guess who was at the lower 'stations.'

I tried. I really did. But his sudden exploring hands had me almost gasping in sexual heat. One more touch to my privates and I just knew I'd spew on the spot.

He walked about me as if inspecting a new purchase of a valuable object. And suddenly I screamed as he hit my butt, my very naked and very tender butt, with some short strap thing on the end of a short leather stick. Almost like a whip but small. Damn that smarted and brought almost instant tears.

"I told you 3; boy, stand still."

I had been turning my head to note his progress around my body. And my thoughts were in turmoil. That REALLY hurt but somehow I didn't care.

"You're really cute you know. I absolutely adore small, slender, blond, white boys."

I was half won over by his use of the word slender rather than skinny. I was quite on the small side for my age. I stood at barely 5 feet [1.50 m] and was just over 80 pounds [36 kg]. I didn't think my looks to be anything special but I wouldn't break any mirrors. Perhaps just as I saw almost all Oriental boys as gorgeous, maybe A-bian saw me in a similar fashion.

But as he continued to explore my body, his hands roamed more intimately. I could barely remain still. And it took two more sharp thwacks with that whip thing to keep me DEFINITELY still. In spite of several times being almost giddy with arousal and trembling with a NEED for sexual release. My stiff boner was leaking profusely even if I was barely starting through puberty. But when he actually grabbed hold of my penis and shoved a finger right up into my rear butt hole, I couldn't help myself. I collapsed against his strong arms and in seconds I came with a greater intensity that my short sex life could not even place on any scale of wow-ness!

"Now it's your turn boy. Ever have a penis in your mouth?"

I was on my knees by now and could barely speak. I stuttered a very weak "no."

"Well you will start to learn."

I did. Willingly. His own penis wasn't really that big, maybe 6 inches [15 cm] long and an inch and a half [3½ cm] across, but perfectly proportioned with a short foreskin over its slightly darken glans which almost totally disappeared when fully erect – like now. His penis and moderate sized testicles in a slightly pendulous and very wrinkled sac were several shades darker than his otherwise dusky light brown skin. And there was a mat of black hair immediately around his penis – mostly above, but not a hair in sight anywhere else. He taught me how to suck him. I wasn't prepared for the gush of cum when it came and he grabbed my head quite forcefully to make sure I kept him in my mouth. Instead of getting me frightened or angry, this in fact got me even more turned on if that were possible. Though I was gagging, I just wanted to please him. That night he taught me a whole lot more about man-boy sex. Though he seemed to me much younger than his 24 years. He was about 6 feet [1.80 m] even and a lean 155 pounds [70 kg]. A body I was totally in lust with.

Over the next two months things progressed. First it was just how he 'commanded' me to perform. Though I always seemed to have my own delightful orgasms, I was definitely made to understand that HE and HIS sexual needs came absolutely first. But it was about a month into our relationship – I never did understand how no one seemed to find it strange that I slept in his room all the time – when something happened that started to really define it.

I was totally naked and on my knees before him while he was addressing me.

"Nu. I have something important. I want to use your butt hole but you need to be opened up."

(He stated that 'nu' was his term of endearment for me).

I was thoroughly frightened but even more excited as he brought out a set of three different sized butt plugs. They came with a belt like thing which fitted about my waist and with a side strap which came down in front, opened just enough to get my penis and testicles through – it hurt a bit doing this – and then a thinner strap extended up my but crack and secured in the back. I just about creamed myself that very first time he handled me putting me into the harness and inserting the plug

By stages he introduced me further into the world of oral and anal sex, along with bondage and sexual control. By week five our sex included me being bound in many different positions but all involving wrist and ankle cuffs, ropes, straps, and by now a quite large butt plug which came to be more permanent then occasional.

By the sixth week I got quite a shock when he drove me to a strange shop deep in the heart of the city. I was SO embarrassed when I entered what was quite obvious a porn shop – something not really advertised in this almost puritanical city – but nevertheless with a wealthy clientele. But it was the back room behind the back room which really amazed me. A man in traditional Malay attire approached and they spoke in their own language so fast I could barely get a single word. One did get to me – the word 'naked' came up several times. A-bian told me to undress, completely. I was not sure how I got the nerve but I complied. Then some attendant, dressed more casually, started measuring my waist and lower body and things really got interesting when my penis and testicles met their measuring devices. I almost came on the spot. I was 'commanded' by A-bian to stand perfectly still with my hands behind me. When we left I got the nerve to ask what that was all about.

"Well my precious nu, I'm sure you know about chastity devices. Well they will have a few different styles made for you in a few days. Remember what I told you last week. Your boy parts will be put totally into my control."

I didn't know whether to be excited or horrified. Four days later I was horrified when I discovered just how terrible that small tube and double ring thing got me so totally frustrated! And of course I was punished later since I actually had an orgasm as he was trying it on me that first time. Fortunately A-bian's punishments rarely consisted of more than several sharp wacks on my butt or legs with his hand or that whip thing.

By the end of month two, I was finally getting used to some pretty severe body controls and that chastity tube and butt plug. That was when he introduced me to several varieties of mouth gags and one even with a muzzle covering my entire lower face. I was in sex heaven! Even if it got scary at times.

But unfortunately the end of the summer was nearing and my dad's contract time was almost up. I was trying to figure out how just maybe he'd let me stay. Ok, so I was quite naïve but I was fantasizing about staying with my lover. My birthday was coming up so maybe 3; Ok so I SAID I was just a naïve young kid.

But my dad DID say that I would be in for quite a surprise. I HAD been hinting – and not too subtly – that I wanted to stay, and I REALLY got encouraged when I saw some brochures on my dad's bed one morning about schools right there in Singapore! Maybe we were staying longer. I had high hopes.

But damn! The surprise was beyond anything I could have imagined. It came just after a very formal but intimate meal with the billionaire Wang Yung-ching, and two of his close friends. One who looked quite sinister with those appraising eyes seemingly staring at me the entire meal. I was also getting amazingly open looks from A-bian. I was scared that his dad, or my dad, would start wondering since they seemed so openly lascivious. Finally it was my dad who started taking about my birthday.

"Son." (Really scary when he used the word 'son' instead of my name). "You will be fourteen tomorrow. It is traditional in many cultures that at that age you will be made ready to make your own way in life. And because you have been hinting quite a lot about staying here longer I decided to take up an offer made by our gracious host, Mr. Wang."

"We'll be staying?" I was quite excited and couldn't keep from looking over at A-bian who was smiling. Apparently he also knew what was happening.

My dad replied: "Well, not me. Only you."

I was puzzled, even if still elated. "Just me?"

It was Mr. Wang who now addressed me.

"Look boy. I know about you and my son. ALL about it."

I started to panic. "All?"

"Yes. In fact Bian and I spoke in quite some detail about it. Especially his desire to have you remain here with him."

I was so embarrassed especially since both of those friends of Mr. Wang were right there in the same room.

"My dad knows also?" I was wondering.

He seemed to read my mind.

"Look boy, Mr. Wang has offered me too much money to turn this down. I have sold you to him."

I could not really comprehend. And started to get a bit scared.

"Sold?"

It was Mr. Wang who continued. "Yes boy. I can refuse my son nothing. And he wants you for his slave. I now own you. Or my son does. And he has a special gift from all of us for your birthday."

By this time my mind was in a whirl.

"Gift?"

It was A-bian who presented me with a beautifully designed and lacquered box. I was directed to open it. I almost dropped it when I saw what was inside. A collar. A very wide and forbidding collar of leather and metal.

I was commanded to stand by A-bian. I did not really understand why but without making a single sound I did just that.

"See father. He obeys totally. I have trained him quite well."

He then took that collar out of the box and placed it about my neck. It snapped into place.

"I have the only key my precious 'nu'."

It was then he told me that 'nu' meant slave, I'd been answering to it for quite some time.

A-bian spoke with quite a lot of emotion. "Boy, you are now officially my precious nu for life. Tomorrow, as another birthday present, you will be enrolled in the finest slave school in the country."

I now looked up with alarm. "Slave school? Life!?" I was barely able to get out the words. And was totally embarrassed as I was throwing the hardest boner of my young life.

It was now when that sinister looking man spoke. "Yes boy. I run an exclusive school for very special clients. I usually only have one or two boys at a time and it last about 4 to 6 weeks depending on just how much training and conditioning it takes to get a student to finally and totally acquiesce to his new station in life. I have found it better to start with 10 or 11 year olds, but have enjoyed great success even with boys as old as you. By the time you are returned to your master, you will have become the perfect slave."

I was barely able to function as Mr. Wang's two 'friends,' both from that special school, forcibly undressed me, attached a leash to my collar, and lead me away.

As I was manhandled – or more correctly – boy-handled into a small cage in the back of an awaiting van, I was thinking about things I should have noticed more. That that one servant of Mr. Wang was so strange. And he too wore a thing about his own neck. I thought it was some strange kind of men's jewelry. And his obsequious manner in front of Mr. Wang the few time I'd seen them together.

I next keep repeating those same words over and over to myself: "Slave." "Life."

Happy Birthday indeed!

A Birthday Surprise

The afternoon was shaping up just as Chris had planned. The hard part was done and now he had the little seven year old Jackson alone in his car heading for his apartment studio. The cover story was that he was going to photograph Jackson for his mother to send to model and acting agencies, but Chris's goal was to talk the young boy into posing naked and then seduce him and enjoy the pleasures of his small preteen body.

Chris was a photographer and a close friend of Jackson's single mother, and although he had seldomly seen her boy, he had yearn for him ever since he was four years old and his lust and desire for Jackson had grown as the lad had gotten older. Over the last few months he'd worked many of Jackson's friends birthday parties and had offered his services freely in the hopes of getting the boys alone; and he'd succeeded twice already in just the last few months. The first was Steve and then James a couple weeks later, both on their seventh birthdays and now Jackson with a forth boy, Clayton, firmly in his sights. He was surprised at just how easy it had been to talk them into it and rob them of their virginity. It seemed to Chris that little boys were a lot more willing to get their tiny little cocks sucked and sweet little virgin asses busted than he'd ever imagined.

He was also the couch of the Little League team that all four boys belonged to and it hadn't been long before he'd staged a team get-together with only Steve and James in attendance. He'd fucked them both that afternoon and a couple times since; their parents none the wiser and only too happy to be rid of their boys any chance they got. Both were eager to offer their asses to Chris and proudly showed him how wide their holes were getting by stretching them apart with their hands as they lay back on either the bed or the couch in his living room.

Jackson's seventh birthday party had ended an hour earlier, with both Steve and James giving Chris knowing looks and two thumbs up before heading home with their parents. They knew that Chris would do with Jackson what he had done to them and that they were headed to Chris's place later that afternoon.

Ever since he could remember, Chris had been sexually attracted to young boys like Jackson but had fought the temptations until they were too strong to bear. Now, in his late thirties, Chris had taken the leap and had fucked his first boy only a few months ago and had what he hoped was his third in the car with him now. Chris glanced over at Jackson and his eyes briefly wondered down from his face and over his body. While the lad wasn't superstar gorgeous, he was sexy and had a cute little face with light brown hair and a prominent cowlick parting his hair on the right that reminded Chris of the Tintin cartoon character. His smooth white skin was very lightly brushed with a soft tan and his eyes were a light blue. As Chris's eyes roamed his soon to be lover's body, his excitement grew and his cock expanded in his pants as he looked the boy over in his bright orange hoodie and tan cargo trousers.

The boy's mother was supposed to come along for the photo session, but Chris's planning had been perfect. A favour called in to one of his best buddies at the hotel she worked at had ensured that she'd had to go in and cover a shift leaving Chris to take him back to his apartment alone. If all went to plan, it would only take a text sent to his buddy and his mother would be asked to stay and do a double shift thus leaving Jackson in his care the whole night.

Some of the groundwork had already been done in getting Jackson conscious of the idea of having pictures taken of him naked. Chris had quietly joked with him earlier in the day about the photo shoot and that if he wanted to be naughty and take all his clothes off he could. The boy had giggled and shrugged his shoulders but the glint in his eye was a sure sign that he'd love to do anything that was considered 'naughty'. Chris had also whispered into his ear and told the lad he looked good enough to eat.

As they neared his building, Chris decided to again raise the subject of Jackson posing nude for him.

"Hey buddy," Chris said to the young boy in the passenger seat next to him. "You remember what I said earlier about if you wanted to take your clothes off for the pictures?"

Jackson looked back from staring out the window to Chris and his mouth formed into a grin. "Yeah." He said and shifted in his seat.

"Well, your friends Steve and James wanted to do it when I took their pictures on their birthdays." Chris said knowing that Jackson couldn't let his friends get one up on him by doing something he hadn't.

"Really?" The boy asked, interested at last.

"Yeah. I'll show you the pictures if you want." Chris said. God this is so easy!

"But it has to be our secret okay buddy?" Chris warned. "It's very naughty and your mother would be very angry so you can't tell her or anyone else except Steve and James. Okay?"

"Okay." Jackson said.

And there it was. He'd just agreed to not tell his mother or anyone else that he'd gotten naked and had let Chris take pictures of him without any clothes on, and they weren't even inside yet. Both Steve and James had taken an hour to convince but little Jackson had given it up in just a few minutes.

They parked in the garage and made their way to Chris floor in the elevator. Chris let the young seven year old boy in first and admired his shapely bubble butt under the baggy cargo pants he had on. At the back of his mind Chris wondered if it would have been better to have had Steve or James here to aid in seducing the sexy little Jackson. But then again, Chris enjoyed being alone the first time with a boy, especially one that he'd lusted over for so many months.

Chris had already set up his studio in the large living area of his apartment with lights atop stands and a white backdrop on high railings and Jackson went straight to them.

"Is this were we're going to take photos?" he asked

"Sure is buddy." Chris answered as he dropped his back pack and took out his camera and popped the memory card to replace it with a new one.

"Wanna get started?" He asked Jackson, eager to get going and finished on the expected posed and clothed shots of the boy.

"Can I see the pictures of Steve and James?" Jackson asked a little shyly. "The naked ones?"

That make Chris smile. Perhaps the clothed pictures could wait.

"Sure buddy. They're on the computer in here." Chris said as he walked to his office and sat in the large leather reclining chair and patted his knee for Jackson to sit on.

Jackson jumped up onto the man's lap without any hesitation and lent forward into the computer screen eagerly waiting the naked images of his friends to appear. Chris reached around Jackson's slender body for the mouse and opened the first file of Steve crouching down on his feet with his legs opened showing off his smooth hairless soft little boy cock and small tight sack tucked up underneath. One by one Chris flipped through the pictures of the two other boys and ever so slowly, gently laid his free hand on Jackson's upper leg and caressed his thigh through the thick material of the boy's cargo pants.

"You think you wanna take pictures like that?" Chris asked.

Jackson giggled and turned on Chris's lap completely oblivious to the man's hardening cock and the hand brushing over his inner leg.

"Okay." He said.

"Remember it's a secret though okay?" Chris warned again wanting to make sure the boy understood. "You can only tell Steve and James when you're alone or if you're here."

"Okay." Jackson said again as he got off Chris's lap when the man turned his chair to the side.

Although he'd done this twice before, Chris's heart was still racing at the prospect of getting Jackson naked and touching that soft and silky skin as he walked the boy back into the living room and grabbing his camera again. With the curtains closed and the lighting strobes turned on, Chris positioned Jackson in front of the white backdrop and snapped off a few pictures.

"Okay buddy, start taking off your top then." Chris said as he pressed a button on his camera to start the video function running and placed it down on a table facing Jackson. He shuffled forward on his knees until he was knelt in front of the boy and pushed his hoodie up from the bottom and Jackson lifted his arms high in the air letting the man take his top off him. Just as it covered Jackson's face, Chris slipped his hands underneath to run them over Jackson's upper chest and lent in to kiss the boy's small pale nipple. Jackson jumped back a little and his muffled cry of giggling protest was the sexiest thing Chris had ever heard.

"What you do that for?" Jackson asked after his hoodie was dumped onto the floor and his upper body was naked for Chris to admire.

"Because it looked like it needed kissing." Chris said with a smile. "Little boys need to be kissed all over as much as possible 3; and I like doing it."

Jackson screwed up his face. "You like kissing my nipple?" he asked.

"Sure buddy. And other parts too." Chris said. "But if we're going to take naughty pictures of you naked, then we should get these pants off too huh?"

Almost without thought, Jackson reached down and started to unbutton his fly but Chris stopped him.

"Let me do that buddy." He said and moved the boy's hands away.

With his hands shaking just a little, Chris fought the temptation to fondle Jackson's little package and concentrated on each button as he made his way down the front of the boy's crotch, gently rubbing a finger across the small bulge and felt the thrill of adrenalin rush through him. This was perhaps the most erotic and sensual part of seducing a young boy, even after you'd taken his innocence and made sweet love to him. Any time you got to slowly strip a boy right before you had sex with him was pure heaven and Chris revelled in the moment.

Far too quickly, or not quickly enough, Chris pulled Jackson's cargo pants down along with his colourful Ben 10 briefs and saw for the very first time the small boy's soft and hairless cock. It was as small as Chris had imagined in his fantasies and just as perfect in every detail. He was cut and only an inch and a bit [3 cm] in length with small little marble balls held snugly within a tight wrinkled sack. The soft skin over his pubic mound was completely bald and hairless and at only seven years old, Jackson had a visible 'V' than ran down from his slender hips pointing straight at his perfect teeny tiny little cock.

Chris tore his eyes away and shuffled back from the boy, not wanting to frighten him off by diving right in and gobbling his miniature dick into his mouth just yet. For the next twenty or so minutes, Chris posed Jackson in every way imaginable; full bodied frontals, in profile, crouching down with legs spread wide, laying on his stomach with his ass in full view, kneeling down with his hips pushed forward, laying on his back with legs spread and more with his legs held up around his shoulders. In particular, Chris made sure to get down under Jackson as the boy stood over him and shot pictures of his ass and crotch from under him. He took close up shots of the lads cock and balls in fine detail, his chest and small little nipples and underarms made up the remainder of the few hundred pictures he took that afternoon before putting the camera down.

"Can we look at them now?" Jackson asked.

Now was the time to seal the deal and complete the plan.

"No buddie." Chris said. "First I want to do something else I did with both Steve and James."

"Yeah? What?" Jackson looked at him excitedly.

"Well, something that makes you feel really good. Go sit on the couch." Chris instructed and followed his little conquest over.

Jackson sat down on the edge of the couch and Chris knelt down between the naked boy's legs and held him around the hips looking Jackson in the eye.

"Remember I said I liked to kiss boys like you all over?" Chris asked. Jackson nodded his head with a smile and giggled a little.

"Well, I want to kiss you all over starting with your mouth and even kissing your little diddle." As Chris said that he reached a thumb down and stroked it over Jackson's soft cock and left it there.

"You want to kiss my dick?" Jackson said in surprise. "Why?"

"Because it makes you feel really good. Steve and James loved it and I think you will too." Again Chris played on Jackson's sense of not wanting to be outdone by his friends.

"Okay." The boy said. "But won't it taste bad?"

"Not at all. In fact it tastes really good." Chris said. "Can I kiss you on the lips buddy?"

"Uh-huh." He said and nodded his head.

"Open your mouth and poke your tongue out a little." Chris showed Jackson what he meant and when the boy did as he was told, Chris lent in and pressed his open mouth against Jackson's. The boy's hot breath and wet lips were enough to send his desires into overdrive and Chris pushed forward until Jackson was laying back into the couch on his back. Chris explored Jackson's mouth and moaned in exquisite pleasure at the sweet taste and feel of his velvety tongue as he massaged the boy's lips with his own. For long minutes they kissed and Chris ran his hands up and down Jackson's prone body, feeling his chest and stomach and reaching down to hold his little cock to stroke him back and forth until he felt the boy growing between his fingers.

Chris broke off the kiss and nuzzled at the young seven year old boy's neck before lowering himself down onto his knees, licking down Jackson's chest and salivating over his gorgeous little hairless mound and tiny little hard cock. He could feel Jackson's eyes on his and he looked up to see the boy staring at him as if he couldn't believe Chris was going to put his dick in his mouth.

And he did. In a single movement he opened his mouth and went down on the boy, taking his entire short length in one go until his nose was pressed against his soft hairless mound, all the while looking up at Jackson staring opened mouthed back down at him.

With slow deliberate movements, Chris vacuumed in his cheeks and wrapped his tongue around Jackson's thin little shaft and sucked up and down on it. Every once in a while he'd flick his tongue over the small and sensitive head and listened to the boy moan and sigh in delight at the new sensations as he watched with his eyes wide at Chris devouring his tiny little cock. He'd never felt anything so wonderful; the wet mouth sliding down his tiny little shaft and the hot moist tongue wrapping itself around him felt so much better than when he make himself hard.

As Jackson succumbed to the tingling in his balls and pulled his legs even further apart by the knees, Chris buried his face into the boy's crotch and sucked in his miniature ball sack and pushed Jackson's legs back onto his chest. Jackson was almost bent in two with the soft hairless patch of silky smooth skin between his balls and his ass crack on show. Chris couldn't resist for a second and he plunged down on it to lick his way to Jackson's sweet and juicy boy hole. The taste was intoxicating as he spread the soft mounds of the boy's ass apart and thrust his tongue in past the puckered pink ring and feeling it immediately clench down around him as Jackson squirmed above him. Time was lost as he feasted on the boy's hot ass, eating him out until it was slick with his saliva.

Chris was so hot and mad with lust that all he could think of was fucking the child even though he knew from past experiences it would be near impossible the first try. But he had all night to work on Jackson and was sure that by morning he'd have taken the seven year boy's virginity and fucked him at least twice over.

While he'd been eating the boy's ass and fucking Jackson with his tongue, Chris had been jacking his short little pole and could feel that the boy was close to his first orgasm. He lifted back up and pulled the boy back into his mouth to bring him to climax. Jackson felt it rise up from his tiny balls and he thought he was going to piss in the man's mouth. But he didn't want the feeling to stop so he kept quiet as he came in dry little boy humps as his whole body shook and his cock felt as though it would explode.

Chris felt it too and savoured the few moments that Jackson's cock spasmed in his mouth until it stopped. He pulled off Jackson and slithered back up his body so that his own hard cock was poised at the lad's ass.

"My turn now buddy." Chris said.

Jackson mumbles something but Chris barely took any notice. He was so fucking close to coming himself at the sight of Jackson laying on his back with his legs bent up around his shoulders that all he could think of was burying his cock deep into the boy. But it was too late already; no sooner had he brushed the tip of his cock over Jackson's puckered virgin rosebud than he felt the tightening in his balls and the imminent orgasm that would soon follow. Instead of trying to get his head in at the last second, Chris instead slid his hard prick over Jackson's balls and little boy cock and squeezed them together in his hand.

He came in a torrent of cum that splattered over Jackson's tummy and then his chest in the first wave, and as Chris cried out in the throes of sexual pleasure, he sprayed the boy's face with his milk until he at last opened his eyes to see Jackson looking up at him in shock.

"It's okay buddy. That's just cum." Chris said as he lowered himself down and rested his chest on Jackson's with their faces just a couple inches apart.

"Usually that goes in your bum." Chris explained. "But you can drink it too if you want."

"How do you get it in my bum?" The boy asked.

"Oh, that's easy," Chris said. "I just need to put my dick in there."

"In my bum?" Jackson asked with a smile as Chris scooped up some of his cum from the boy's cheek. He pushed his finger into Jackson's mouth giving the lad his first taste of man juice.

"Yeah buddy, in your bum." Chris whispered into Jackson's ear. "That's called fucking. And I've got a birthday surprise for you too. Steve and James are coming over soon, and boy do we all want to fuck you."

edited by Maiocxx

A Day in the Life of a Dog

A Birthday Story

June 19th. Happy Birthday!

There are three anniversaries on this date, PZA, to whom we send our congratulations to their celebrations, and wish them very many happy returns of the day.

There is also a hapless slave boy who is eleven years old today. His name is Arno. He is of European decent; I would suggest of the ancient Hun race, or perhaps an Angle with his blond hair, blue eyes and fair skin. Not of large frame nor heavily built. He had been abducted and eventually was placed in the Zelamir Pueros Slave Training Academy, at Tangiers in Morocco.

After a harsh, ruthless, vigorous and brutal training programme he qualified, and was put on the auction block in the slave market and reached a record breaking price when sold to a very wealthy and powerful politician who had a daughter called Svetlana.

Svetlana is twenty one today. Happy birthday, Svetlana!

Oh yes, the slave boy! Arno 3; we would like to wish you a happy birthday, but feel it would be a cruel mockery to utter such words to a person, whose whole existence is a living hell.

Svetlana knew her father had been abroad on a business trip, but had no idea that he had purchased a slave boy for her. It had been shipped to her home without her knowledge. She came down to breakfast and received the customary greetings and tokens of affection from all present. "Surely you have bought me a present?" said the spoilt, spiteful, surly, sullen, spinster.

Her parents smiled sweetly and replied, "Shortly after breakfast you shall see."

She snapped back, "I've finished now!" They duly arose from the table and withdrew to the lounge.

There in the centre of the room was a very ornate large box. "Svetlana my dear, please be seated and allow me to open it so as not to spoil the enjoyment of our gift to you," said her ingratiating mother. Slowly settling in her seat she stared at the box.

Mother sat beside her. Father lifted the lid from the box and, as he did so, the four sides fell open to the ground. There, crouched on all fours in the centre was a small white boy. Svetlana gasped in surprise as mum and dad were full of joy and glee.

The child shuffled across the carpet towards Svetlana keeping its face flat on the floor. With buttocks raised, and arms stretched fully out in front of him, he paid homage and obeisance to her. In this posture he stayed and spoke as he had been instructed, "Most glorious and illustrious mistress, your humble and most unworthy slave boy begs permission to wish you a very Happy Birthday. Please be so gracious as to accept me as a gift from your loving parents to be your bedroom slave-boy and attendant.

"You are my Mistress; I own your right,
To every service I can pay.
And call it my supreme delight,
To hear your dictates and obey.
What is my being but for you?"

"Complete submission: my noblest end;
Sweet to lie passive in your hands,
My will to yours will always bend
And know your will forever stands.
What is my being but for you?"

"Sweet to experience every day;
Enduring various types of pain.
Pleasure of doing all you say.
Handcuffed or bound, I love the strain.
What is my being but for you?"

She rose to her feet and kicked the slave boy hard in the ribs. Such an unexpected explosion caused the new slave to fall on his side and buckle up in pain. Svetlana grabbed hold of a handful of his beautiful blond hair and yanked him to his feet shouting, "Stand up you slovenly slut!"

With great difficulty the young youth stood to attention. Mistress stepped back to admire the view. She expressed no gratitude or appreciation to her parents. Neither did she show the least expression of her joy and excitement for such a glorious and beautiful possession she had just acquired.

The boy just stood there before her in all his naked beauty. The natural glory of nature, it was tall and slender, young and tender. She quietly counted the ribs and enjoyed the slight signs of immature muscles under the pure white, silky skin. The light reflecting off from the clean, healthy skin accentuated the beauty of the gentle lines and curves of this divinely shaped boy's body. The glossy sheen of his hair had to be seen to be believed.

Its little nipples stood proud. The penis looked quite shrivelled; as for the testicles, there seemed hardly any trace. No doubt the creature had hair follicles, but there was not the least sign of any hair anywhere. The lovely little ankles were so small and delicate; it was almost incredible they could hold the weight of the boy's body above.

With that, a senior member of staff knocked on the door to announce the arrival of guests. The world renowned artist and universally famous surgeon for cosmetic and body modification surgery, Professor Istari. Also his good friend had come with him, the illustrious Zelamir Pueros.

He it is, of course, who owns and runs the Slave Training Academy of the same name in Morocco. He governs his vast wealthy empire with the same gentle consideration of others as Josef Stalin ruled Russia!

Zelamir Pueros had brought with him, his beloved pet, 'The Green Frog.' The guests were received warmly, and customary greetings exchanged. They were invited to refreshments. Like Svetlana's household, they had just had breakfast, so would settle for coffee and requested permission to present their birthday gifts to 'The All Important Girl' whose day it is today.

Presents presented included a steel cage for 'Madam's' bedroom for her to keep her new slave boy in when it was not in use. Other gifts included a selection of various shackles, cuffs, gags, collars and other items to use on the slave. There were several types of frames for training purposes 3; the victim was secured to the apparatus by manacles or the like. Being made impossible to move, the master or mistress could do exactly what they wanted to the slave with no problem. For example a 'Y' for castrating. Alternatively an 'I' for branding. Again a bending, sitting, or any other posture could be maintained for as long as the slave owner required. Instruments to induce pain and discomfort for the victim of their cruelty were canes, whips, thumb screws and the like. Some pretty things to wear such as thongs, bracelets, necklaces and braiding for its hair. Svetlana's attention moved away from all these things, and focused on 'The Green Frog.'

Now this 'Green Frog' started off in life as a normal human being, just like any other boy. It was painfully thin, however, and it was established that both of its parents had been petit so it was not surprising.

Well, Zelamir Pueros acquired this article. He happened to mention to his good friend Professor Istari that he fancied something a little different. So many people had a cat boy, or pony boy, puppy boy, bed boy or pleasure slave he felt that a man in his position needed to have a status symbol different from every one else. Professor Istari agreed and suggested it should be left to him.

The new little lad was taken to the clinic of Professor Istari. When Professor Istari had finished with it and returned the animal several weeks later, there was indeed a complete transformation. The hair had been dyed green and both ears had been amputated. However the green hair was long enough to cover the scars. The cretin sat on its buttocks, legs bent up onto the chest, and knees under the chin. There was very little use for the legs. The arms went straight down in front of its body between the legs. Thus buttocks, feet and hands were all on the floor together.

The whole of the skin of this creature was bright pea green. Whether it was stained this colour or tattooed like this the Professor did not say. This modified child leaned forward in its posture. The eyes were opened large. The whites of the eyes seemed very prominent. The blue eyes bulged beautifully. The mouth hung open so that the tongue could be clearly seen.

Green Frog snuggled up to the legs of Zelamir Pueros who continued to run his fingers through its hair and make a general fuss of it as he continued to pet it. Professor Istari started to cuddle it and make a fuss of it as well. Soon it was the centre of attention and Arno was being ignored. NOT that he was sorry about that. However it soon became noticeable that Green Frog was staring at Arno and becoming restless and fidgety.

The animal was asked what its problem was. This was somewhat futile as it was Professor Istari himself who had cut the creature's vocal chords. The ever patient and caring Zelamir Pueros rose to his feet and kicked his pet in the ribs.

Most weird and wonderful screaming, shouting type noises came from the cretin, none of which, of course, could be described as words.

Professor Istari laughed, "I know what it is! Shall we enjoy a little fun and sport? After all, we are here to celebrate and have enjoyment. Well, Let Frog and Arno have some delight as well as us!"

Svetlana and her mother got the drift of what was coming. They said they would go for a short stroll down to the river and back and leave the men to enjoy themselves. The two women set off across the lawn and out of sight.

A frame was placed in the centre of the room and Arno was placed on the apparatus and firmly secured. He was fixed in the posture of being on his knee and elbows. This was an 'H' shape steel frame that was flat on the floor. Arising from the cross member was a sturdy steel rod with a metal collar. In the collar Arno's tender slender, swan neck was placed and fastened.

"All right! If you want it, you can have it," snapped Zelamir Pueros.

The face of Green Frog beamed with joy, delight and glee as it started to hop towards the secured victim. It started to drool, slobber and kiss the beautiful torso dangling unprotected in front of him. Next the creature moved onto the beautiful cylindrical limbs. However when it started to chew the biceps and bite the ankles of the slave boy, it was feared it might cause too much damage to Svetlana's property and it was stopped.

Professor Istari moved it around so that the two boys were facing each other. All agreed that the green and the white went very well together. Frog vigorously licked and kissed the face of Arno. The face was soon wet with mucus, saliva, spittle, and showed little nips, teeth marks of the tormentor.

Frog then put his tongue into the mouth of the other lad. The trapped slave boy's face grimaced in pain, disgust and revulsion. The onlookers laughed, cheered, clapped and jeered. That encouraged Green Frog to continue his good work and to gratify himself.

The animal moved around to the rear of the secured victim. By now, his penis was like a ramrod. However, he started to lick the anal orifice first. After that he hauled himself up onto the slave boys' back. Arno screamed in pain as the green penis entered his rectum. The animal pumped away as if his life depended on it.

Green Fog had just rolled off onto the floor when the screeching, screaming, hysterical mother of Svetlana burst into the room. "Some happy birthday this is! Svetlana has fallen into the river! She managed to grab hold of a branch that is overhanging mid-stream. It is not strong enough to take her weight. She is exhausted and is not able to hold on any longer. Svetlana can not swim one stroke!"

Everyone looked at each other and exclaimed: "Nor can we!"

A pitiful, lamentable voice was heard, "Please Sirs, please excuse me Master, may I have permission to speak? I will save my Mistress, the Lady Svetlana!" The infuriated Master of the house kicked the boy in the mouth and split his lip open. Then he grabbed the riding crop and started to thrash the lad.

Professor Istari stepped forward and snatched the weapon from his hand. "Release Arno immediately he demanded."

"How dare you Sir!" Exclaimed Svetlana's father. "This impudent brat dared speak and offer advice without being addressed. It must be thrashed severely within an inch of its life, and it WILL be: let me tell you!"

"Release Arno immediately!" retorted Professor Istari. "He is the ONLY hope of your daughter being rescued. He is the only one who can swim in this house. Before his abduction into slavery he was a proficient swimmer and had distinctions in life-saving. Now jump to it and release the boy immediately."

The little lad 3; who had just been sexually abused, raped and hit and beaten up unmercifully, his face awash with blood, and his mouth and eyes swollen; his body wet with snot, mucus and spittle; his buttocks dripping spermatozoa; his whole body racked with pain 3; this very one, was now the centre and foundation of all their hopes. If he was successful, as everyone dared hope he would be, what would be his reward?

The distraught father caught hold of the boy's arm as they got to the river bank. They all peered into the murky, cold waters. The branch that Svetlana was clinging to had already broken. She hung on for dear life. Her eyes were closed: and she had ceased to cry for help. Her father, still holding Arno's arm, pleaded with the lad. "Please, my son, I beg of you. Save her! I promise faithfully if you do, I will give you your freedom in a legal document. I will adopt you as my son and heir legally in the courts. I promise faithfully I will reward you with anything you ask. But please save her!"

Arno looked him in the eye, but said nothing. He thought of two sentences written by the Ancients. "All men are liars!" The other truthful statement also written. "Put not your trust in princes."

Arno pulled his arm away and dived into the cold waters. He had not swum for some time. The icy, cold water shocked him and momentarily took his breath away. Arno swam to the terrified woman, and spoke reassuringly to her. "Mistress, you are going to be safe with me. Trust me, relax and let go of the branch."

She clung tightly to the branch and Arno had no alternative than to speak sharply to her. In desperation he brought his arm down forcefully over hers, and made her loose her grip. She went absolutely hysterical.

"Mistress!" Arno shouted at her, "If you do not relax and trust me, you will drown both of us. Now lie still on my chest in my arms and I will take you to safety." Eventually, with great difficulty, they reached the shore.

Professor Istari put out his hands and pulled in Arno. While every one else hauled in Svetlana and fussed over her.

Professor Istari looked upon the little lad and said quite emotionally. "Arno, lad, my son! You are my hero and I am very proud of you. Well done and thank you."

The slave boy's moments of glory and triumph were, indeed, short lived.

Professor Istari had not finished the last syllable of his sentence before Svetlana's shouting, shrill, screeching was being uttered. NO! No one else even hinted a word of thanks or appreciation for what the little white slave boy had done or achieved.

Svetlana bellowed, "Why isn't that slave collared, chained, gagged, and his wrists handcuffed behind his back? That is to be done instantly!"

"Yes, certainly," said her father. He rushed off, but was quickly back. He affixed a collar and chain to the hapless lad's neck, inserted a ball gag into his mouth, and applied handcuffs to the child's wrists behind his back as Svetlana had ordered. He neither spoke to Arno, nor looked him in the face. The little slave boy shivered with the cold and his skin took on a bluish tinge. Yet no one bothered or cared.

Svetlana turned her wrath on Zelamir Pueros. "You call yourself a slave trainer? That brat addressed me this morning without my permission. This afternoon, not only does it repeat the crime, but actually tells me what to do. If that was not sufficient, it used brute force on my arms. What sort of training do you do in your crummy Slave Training Academy? Don't you teach them anything? You should repay my parents their money back with interest."

She continued, "That slave boy brat must be thrashed immediately on the frame within an inch of its life. I demand it!"

Her parents meekly replied, "Yes my dear, we shall ensure you have the privilege and pleasure of doing it as soon as we are indoors and you have dried off and changed. Have a nice hot bath first dear, while we prepare things for you to do the beating. What foolishness! What grave folly! Everyone knows that Zelamir Pueros is like his mentor, Josef Stalin. He must never be confronted nor upset. Both the same, never forgive, never forget. He will most certainly seek revenge!"

Svetlana started to calm down a little. She turned to Professor Istari, "I have made a decision. I greatly appreciate the masterful job you made of 'The Green Frog.' You will take this miserable brat back to your clinic tonight. You will carry out the necessary modifications to convert it into a puppy boy. It has its gag in its mouth. Make sure it remains there until you take it away."

"It has not been fed today, so there is no reason why you should not start surgery on it tomorrow. Shortly, I shall enjoy giving it a very severe thrashing, a taste of what it can expect daily from me after you have returned it to me. Its eardrums are to be perforated so severely that it will no longer be able to hear and its vocal chords are to be cut. Front part of the tongue to be cut off. Ears shaped into points. All teeth to be extracted. Penis and scrotum to be completely removed. All fingers and thumbs to be amputated. Have the legs cut off from just under the knees. Is all that perfectly understood Professor Istari?"

"Yes certainly, the pleasure will be mine. Will your father sign the consent papers? I do like cash in advance."

"Pass me the papers and I will sign now." Said her father. "The cash is in my safe in the office, you can have that now."

The papers were put on the table and were signed immediately without any qualms or hesitation.

Professor Istari continued. "Yes, I will carry this all out tomorrow. I will keep it for a couple of weeks to ensure there is no infection or complications. These alterations will cause a GREAT deal of pain to the wretch. Will I prescribe and send pain killers with its return?"

"No, certainly not!" She exclaimed. "We shall greatly enjoy watching it squirm and writhe in agony on its return to us," laughed Svetlana. "Think of all his agony when I take him for a walk on those fresh stumps. I shall be able to stamp on his hands. He will enjoy putting those tender stumps on the sharp gravel path. I shall have to train him to understand my hand signals be beating him as he will not be able to hear my commands"

"Thank you mum and dad. Thank you both so very much for giving me this ideal surprise gift for my birthday. This is the happiest and best birthday I have ever enjoyed." She gave her parents a big hug and kiss. "I have always wanted a puppy dog to train. Now I have one!"

Svetlana said, "Yes, this is a day in the life of a dog." She sneered at the cowering slave boy who had just saved her life, and continued scathingly, "This dog-boy of mine. This is your first day as a dog. Your birthday dog." She gave a loud raucous laugh. "Yes, this is the day in the life of a dog." Then giving him a hard spiteful slap, said sarcastically, "Happy birthday, Arno dog, this June 19th."

The group made their way back to the house. All the way, Svetlana showed nothing but cruelty and spite to the lad who had just saved her life. As you have already been informed, the nearest person we can liken Zelamir Pueros to is Josef Stalin. They both had the eyes of a wild animal such as a tiger. Neither had the eyes of a human being. They both shared the same compassion, care, and concern for their fellow human beings. Oh yes; only a fool would dare to disagree or cross them. If you have read Russian history you know that these things are a fact.

Zelamir Pueros and Professor Istari were the last into the lounge. The frame had been erected in the center of the room and the slave-dog boy was about to be spread-eagled for his thrashing within an inch of his life by Svetlana. She had gone for a bath and change of clothes.

Zelamir Pueros looked evil. Obviously something was wrong and he was very displeased. The atmosphere in the room was electric. Everyone's face was like flint. No one dared speak. Svetlana's father took a step towards his guest, but his face had already turned pale.

"Sir?" He said politely.

"We're not stopping. We are returning to our homes immediately with the Arno. Have him wrapped in a warm blanket and put in my limousine at once."

"Um! Yes, I know we agreed he should be taken back to Professor Istari's clinic tonight. We have not had dinner yet, and Svetlana is so looking forward to beating her dog boy."

Professor Istari wrapped the blanket around the shivering, terrified child. Then he spoke firmly to those in the room. "You signed this document, whereby you transferred your authority over the slave to me, until I felt it was right to return him to you after the surgery. There is no time scale in the document. It could, therefore, be in seventy years time when I carry out the surgery. Technically, in court of law, he belongs to me. He is my property."

"However I will not take advantage of the situation. Here, take this envelope; it contains more cash than what you paid for him. I have redeemed him. He is now mine. He is MY SON! "

He lifted up Arno into his strong arms as they left the room for the car. In doing so. Professor Istari said, for all to hear, and tears dripping down his face. "Welcome into your new family, and a VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY to you, Arno, MY SON, son of Istari, this June 19th."

Xander's 13th Birthday Present

Mom and Dad's Thirteenth Wedding Anniversary

By Justin Brevre

When we get to the restaurant the guy at the door says there will be a half hour wait and Dad blows up, yelling and swearing about us having a reservation and if they don't find a table he'd find one and shove it up the guy's ass. Everyone else that is waiting sort of backs up. Some look at Dad like he's a wild man and expecting him to do what he just said and others looking at him like he's a piece of dog crap they'd just stepped in. Derrick and Bryce are embarrassed as heck and I'm trying to look like I'm not with them at all. Each minute is like an hour and Dad is fuming and swearing and pacing up and down and I'm trying to look invisible but I do a poor job cause suddenly he turns and yells at me to stand up straight and get my hands out of my pockets and stop playing pocket pool, and asks if I can't keep my hands off it for at least an hour or two. Well I'm all embarrassed and turning red and my brain turns to mush so I can't think like it does every time he hollers at me so I just open and close my mouth and stare at him bugeyed like Goldie, a goldfish we once had. Mom comes to my defence, as she always does, and he hollers that she always does, and the two of them get into another screaming match. I see out the corner of my eyes the other people glancing at each other and wishing they'd gone to Macdonald's' or Wendy's or something instead of Chez Pierre and me and my brothers get even more embarrassed.

When we finally get a table it doesn't stop there. Dad complains about the prices and that it is all written in French and he doesn't understand a word. I have to agree. I have no idea what my menu says, and my eyeballs pop out when I see the prices. Mom goes, "of course it is in French, this is a French restaurant, and of course it is expensive, but this is a special day," and she asks if it isn't important enough to take her some place extra nice on a day like this. I don't know why, but when Dad gets mad Mom just finds things to say that are guaranteed to make him all the madder.

Dad snorts and says everyone knows how special the number thirteen is though today is no unluckier than the day they got married. Mom explodes and asks what he means by that and Dad goes "you know damn well we wouldn't have gotten married if it hadn't been for you know who" and he nods at me with a glare. As if getting married was all my fault! I wasn't even around! Mom goes sarcastic-like, "oh great, Einstein, I'm sure nobody knows who you mean," and I have to agree with her. Dad can be a real moron when he's drunk. He can be a real moron when he's sober too. He goes, "well, it's true," as if that makes it okay and Mom gives him this shut up gesture because whatever he's talking bout we're not suppose to hear, a gesture she makes a lot. Dad's on a real roll and snorts and says I'm old enough to know she was two months knocked up when they got married. Now it is Mom's turn to look like Goldie, and me too. I guess it was my fault. I was around, sortta.

Well, the waiter comes to take our order, and we get served real fast, hoping we'll eat and get out of there I figure. The people around us are giving us dirty looks. None of that helps of course. Dad knows what they're doing and so eats slow on purpose and finds things to yell about on purpose, like telling Derrick to act like a man, which he tells him a lot, and to keep his elbows off the table cuz we're in a "very snooty restaurant" and telling him and Bryce to stop whispering to each other, which they always do, and saying Bryce giggles like a girl, which he does, and telling me to keep my left hand above the table so he can see it and to stop fiddling with myself, which I was doing and which makes me turn all red and I know everyone is looking at me and thinking what a sex perv I am. He complains about them too, how they're snobs and how they're staring at us, making them guilty and all and pretend they aren't looking at us. He calls the two guys right next to us bloody high-muckety-mucks loud so they can hear and he says they're probably fags and drooling over me and Derrick and Bryce and says for us not to go to the rest room and looks at them like he said something real smart. That makes Bryce need to go and when Dad says he can't Bryce wiggles and reaches between his legs to pinch himself closed. Derrick and me have to go too and I have to reach down and pinch my dick closed too, which of course Dad sees and he bellows for me to get my hand away and I turn all red again.

We finally leave and I'm glad it's over. So is everyone else I think. Dad is so drunk he can barely stand, never mind drive, and Mom is just as bad. We get to our car and Dad drops the keys. He's bending over trying to find them when the two guys who'd been sitting next to us show up. One catches Dad as he's about to fall and the other picks up his keys. Dad says something about all a guy has to do is bend over and there's a fag behind him and he takes a swing at the guy but the guy just steps back and then he socks Dad one, right in the mush, and he falls on his ass out cold. Well, he picks Dad up and throws him in the back seat and pushes Mom in and tells us to go with the other guy and they'll get us home safe. It's all so sudden and such a surprise we don't say nothing. By the time we get in the house Dad is awake and tells them to take their hands off him. He starts cursing and calling them fags again and says he's gonna phone the cops and have them arrested and Mom's all hysterical and begins screaming at them too. Before anyone knows it they got Mom and Dad sitting on the coffee table in the living room, their arms tied behind them, Dad's pants pulled off and his underwear stuffed in his mouth and his legs bent and spread and tied to two of the table legs, and Mom's new dress pulled up and her panties stuffed in her mouth and her legs tied like Dad's.

Then this one guy, Daemon, sits in Dad's chair with me in his lap, and the other guy, John, sits on the sofa with Derrick on one knee and Bryce on the other. Daemon starts talking about love and stuff and how our parents must have loved each other at one time, but they've forgotten what love is about, and are poor role models for us and a bunch of other stuff I forget right now. Mom and Dad are struggling and mumbling but they can't get loose and we can't understand them. Daemon asks if I like girls and I say yes. He asks if I've ever kissed them or done anything like seen their pussies and I say no. He says their pussies aren't anything to see and he nods at Mom. Me and Derrick and Bryce can't help look at her pussy which makes her turn all red and I'm embarrassed but interested too. He's sortta right. He says love doesn't have to be between boys and girls and can be between boys, or between boys and men, and same with kissing and having sex and that he'll show me.

He bends over and kisses me, right on the lips, and I'm surprised and embarrassed and disgusted but he does it more times and it makes me feel sortta funny and my dick starts to get excited. John says there's a site on the Internet that has stories about boy love and they are having an anniversary too, their third. He pulls it up on his iPod and has Derrick read out loud one of his favourites. Hearing Derrick read that stuff makes my dick hard. Daemon notices and says getting a bone is natural and it shows I'm liking the story. He says my dad was wrong about them being gay, and that they are boylovers. That really makes Mom and Dad go crazy.

He asks how old we are. I tell him I'll be twelve and a half next month and Derrick is ten and Bryce eight. He asks if I really like to play pocket pool like my dad said. I'm too scared to lie and say yes. He says that's natural too cuz it feels good and all boys do it. He's running his fingers up and down the bulge in my pants and says he bets sometimes I think about my buddies while I do it and about us doing it together or to each other. I turn all red because I have. It's like he's read my mind! He pulls down my fly and slips his fingers inside my jeans and briefs. As he wraps his fingers about my dick it feels weird but good too. I'm all embarrassed being hard and having Mom and Dad seeing my dick but it's feeling good having him rubbing it. He whispers for me to take his out and play with it like I play with mine. I'm too scared to say no and besides I sortta want to so I do. I'm shocked he is hard too. I can't believe how huge his is! It is really weird rubbing another guy's real private part and having him rub mine and at first it gives me gooseflesh and I'm all embarrassed doing it in front of my mom and dad but it's feeling good and it's exciting and soon I forget about them and before I know it I'm ready to squirt and before I can say anything I do, all over his fingers and on the carpet, and then his big dick is spurting too, his stuff all hot and slimy and thick and running over my fingers.

Then I see Derrick and Bryce giving me the Goldie look. John tells them that it's baby juice and has them come and feel it and smell it and tells them to taste it but they go, "Ewww!" and he smiles and says that's okay. He says him and Daemon can teach us more stuff if we want. We look at each other and go, "okay" cuz we're too scared to say no but mostly I want to learn more and I think my brothers do too. They learn us French kissing which is sortta gross but Bryce likes the spit bit and it is sortta hot. Then Daemon and me lay on the floor and push our pants and underwear down and we do what he calls sixty-nine. It is awesome having his hot, wet mouth totally swallowing my dick and I want to squirt in seconds but to my big disappointment he stops and tells me to try him. I don't want to and think it might taste gross but he'd done me so I give it a try. To my surprise it doesn't taste bad and is sortta hot and dirty in a sexy way having his private part in my mouth. Actually it's so sexy when I start sucking on his dick it makes me so horny I start squirting, just like that! Daemon catches my squirts in his mouth and then has me do him and catch his stuff in mine. At the same time we did 69 John sucked Bryce and Bryce did Derrick who did John.

Then they learn us snowballing. Daemon spit my gooey baby stuff in my mouth with his spit, then I drooled my spit and stuff along with Daemon's spit and gunk into Derrick's mouth, which was full of his spit and John's gunk, and he passed it on to John who passed it on to Bryce who gave it back to me. It was even grosser and hotter than French kissing and our lips and inside our mouths are all slimy with everyone's spit and with the slimy gunk from our nuts all mixed together. We go around again and when it gets back to me my cheeks are puffed out like a chipmunk's with all the slime and spit and when I swallow it I get all dizzy it is so hot.

Daemon says we should rest and let our balls fill up again and while we're waiting says if I write what happened he'd post it at this PZA site that's looking for anniversary stories. Then he says him and John will show us how guys can fuck without needing girls and if we want they can show us a cum control game we can play on Dad. So I hope you like what I wrote and it got your dick hard. Mine's twitching and leaking thinking bout what Daemon and John are going to learn us.

Birthday Interrogations

Ryan and Josh had one thing in common that may have led to their being kidnapped. They were both exactly thirteen years old.

It was also a similarity that both kids, 7th graders from the Saint Tristan's Academy in Newburyport, were hanging upright, secured by rusted ankle and wrist bolts to opposite walls in the dank dungeon while in plain view of the other, in their birthday suits, naked as the day they were born.

Josh had already been tortured once, but he was no longer sobbing or screaming as he had been just an hour before. He'd been whipped all over his chest and belly with a cruel martinet, and burned with a hot iron in other sensitive places, mostly on his testicles, but also on the inside of his thighs and on the tender soles of his feet.

Ryan had witnessed his friend's entire ordeal, and kept screaming to his tormentors, two sadistic and burly, barefoot and hirsute men wearing shorts and T-shirts, emblazoned with Saint Tristan's school colors, blue and a golden yellow, and he kept yelling hoping that they'd stop what they were doing to Josh, "Why are you doing this to us?" He'd never laid eyes on either man in his life, but one of them, who had hair the color of crow's feathers and was a few inches taller, simply said, "Shut up kid, if he doesn't start chirping and tell us what we need to know, you'll be next."

The dungeon appeared medieval in design, if not exactly dating from that distant historical period. For history class, just a few weeks before, Josh and Ryan, who were in the same class for history, had studied the Spanish Inquisition and learned about various methods of torture that had once been employed. But to study something in history is one thing; to be subjected to such cruelty was another.

The questions posed to Josh during his interrogation had been strange and terrifying simultaneously. "How often do you masturbate? Have you ever fantasized about sticking a sizzling hot branding iron up into your anus? Have you ever received a blowjob? Do you slack off in school sometimes? What is the most painful thing we could do to you?" But a clue as to why they'd been taken had been revealed by the shorter, red-haired man whose bare feet stank in the confined fetid place, "What were you planning to do today after you got home from school? Celebrate your birthdays?"

For the moment, Josh and Ryan were alone in their chamber of horrors. Both boys were alert, and could hear water dripping from a relatively great height somewhere nearby, but except for that not-so-reassuring sound, which possessed a certain familiar dripping, almost a splashing, only silence surrounded their senses.

Although frightened almost out of his wits, Ryan decided to speak to his friend in the dungeon's dim and flickering light. "Josh, are you okay?"

For several seconds, the boy who'd already been tortured remained silent. He'd been screaming so much during his interrogation, Ryan wondered if his friend could still talk. For sure, Josh's throat had to be hoarse. Finally, Josh managed a soft "Yeah, I guess, until they come back," which sounded like a cross between a croak and a whisper. Josh's voice under normal stress was slightly deeper than Ryan's, and he already had a few soft blonde pubic hairs, which was more than Ryan could say. But the last few hours had been anything but normal.

"How do you feel?" Ryan asked. This was kind of silly question in retrospect, considering what he had just witnessed being done to his classmate by those two evil men.

"We're not supposed to be talking, those guys said, and if they hear us, they might hurt us worse," Josh replied. Josh was smarter than his friend and typically got A's in his subjects, while Ryan was a B student. Josh was also more cynical, and already figured that these men who had taken them on their birthdays weren't going to let them go. He wasn't going to tell Ryan that though.

"Do you think they'll come back?" Ryan asked plaintively, the raw fear surfacing in the manner of bile as he probably already knew the answer.

Once again, Josh just hung their naked and upright, and was silent.

It was very humid in the dungeon, but there was no sense of time. For at least a half hour, the silence endured as the boys cat-napped.

The footsteps were loud and startling, awakening first Josh whose nude body was still throbbing in pain. He said in his hoarse whisper, "Wake up, Ryan. Somebody's coming."

The footsteps drew nearer, ever closer.

"Do you think it's somebody to rescue us?" Ryan asked, hoping against hope that this might be true.

"Maybe," Josh said, not believing his own voice.

The red-haired man spoke first. Even before he came into view, the captives could easily smell him.

He was addressing Ryan. "Since your friend didn't tell us what we needed to know, now it's your turn, kid."

Ryan let out a little shriek of terror.

The taller one, just behind the stinky-footed one, had picked up the martinet after soaking it in a small oval container filled with brine.

Red-headed bastard smiled with a satisfaction that reveled in cruelty, a trait that had existed for thousands of years in certain men and never been extinguished.

Ryan was a modest adolescent, on the cusp of puberty, and he felt ashamed to be naked. That humiliation, however, was the least of his worries.

Josh saw the martinet and knew precisely what was about to begin. Unlike his friend who'd been quite vocal while he was being tortured, he assumed it wiser to hold his tongue.

In the able grip of the taller man's left hand, the sinister one, a martinet is a vicious weapon, especially when the target is the sensitive bare skin of a thirteen-year-old's chest and belly, where the truncheon-like whip first descended, immediately producing cuts and droplets of blood, and very piercing yet ineffective howls of agony. Ryan's parents didn't believe in corporal punishment and he'd never been spanked in his entire boyhood. This kind of abuse was foreign to him, at least in practice, although he'd played a violent computer game from time to time, and his imagination had always been a fertile place. That's where Ryan headed now, attempting to nod off and escape the terrible pain, until a face slap from the stinky-footed redhead jarred him back into a birthday reality which he'd never fantasized about ever – let alone wanted even for a moment.

The strange barrage of questions punctuated the relative silence, free of sound except for Ryan's whimpers and wails, and incessant sobbing, but like Josh, the answers Ryan gave were never satisfactory, and the martinet gave way to the hot iron, warmed on a nearby brazier, and the fledgling teen smelled the burning of his own flesh which now mingled with the red-headed tyrant's rancid foot odor. The pain from this medieval instrument was excruciating, worse than the cruel martinet, as this sizzling hot poker approached his inner thighs and his penis and testicles and the tender soles of his feet. An hour passed, and the red-head was still holding tight to Ryan's foot, first one, then the other, so that the boy's soles could be "burned right."

It ended when there was a loud noise from somewhere above them, it sounded like a clanging and an accoutrement of heavy objects being dropped, the resulting thuds almost deafening as the sounds, already loud, were amplified somehow.

"Shit," the taller one said, a definite note of sadness emanating from his gob, and seconds later, the awful men were gone.

Silence ensued after that, for at least twenty minutes. Finally, Josh dared to speak again. "Maybe they won't be back," he said, "and we will be rescued after all."

Ryan, hoarse himself now and his birthday voice a mere whisper, simply nodded his head and hung there limply. His entire body throbbed, but at least he had hope.

The Gift of the Songbird

There are as many stories about the ancient and exotic land known as the Land of the Tiger Eye as there are stars in the sky. What you are about to read is a vignette intended for responsible and worthy readers about the thirtieth anniversary of the reign of a great and noble Lord and the remarkable gift of a Songbird. May you find enlightenment in its telling.

There reigned from Chak-kai a noble and benevolent Lord, Lord Baharma Bamorong, Favoured Son of the Great God Xiu, Fierce Tiger of the Jungle, Defender of the People, and Master Over all That Is, Was, and Will Be. The land prospered under his rule for Lord Bamorong was a strong and wise ruler, much respected by his people. However, though he was respected, he was not loved. He did not ascend to the throne until the age of forty-three after the death of his father and his two elder brothers. Having never expected to sit on the Tiger Throne, and being a quiet man of intellect unlike his popular and outgoing sire and elder siblings, he had spent most of his life studying obscure but surely important things with the recluse priests in the northern mountain range known as the Dragon's Spine. Upon becoming the Master Over all That is, Was, and Will Be, he left the running of the land in the hands of his Council of Ministers and Regional Lords, under of course his watchful eye, and so was seldom seen by the common people; and in that they prospered under his reign, he was seldom bothered by the other nobles and officials of the land.

So, upon the thirtieth anniversary of his assumption of the Throne, there was much rejoicing across the land, but there was also a growing fear. The Fierce Tiger of the Jungle was approaching the time when most men are called upon to join their ancestors, and being unmarried, when the time came, he would leave no heir to rule over the Land. Of course a wise man knows the Great God Xiu would not leave the Land without a ruler, but wise men also know there is no harm in helping Xiu make His choice. And so it was that all the great Under Lords, the loyal and faithful Priests, and the greatest Marshals of the Land converged at Chak-kai with magnificent gifts to honour Lord Bamorong and demonstrate their great respect for him, and if a particular gift caught the eye of the Lord and the bearer of such gift was to be named heir, surely it was the Will of Xiu.

One by one the worshipful and hopeful entered the Great Audience Hall in order of rank as determined by the Lord Chamberlain, and were presented to Lord Bamorong who gratefully accepted their praises and their gifts, the leather bound histories, strange scrolls of something called papyrus from the far kingdom of Aeyp, fine silk robes from faraway Land of the Rising Sun, peacock headdresses, rare gems, an endless list. The Lord was introduced to the most beautiful of maidens in elaborate, revealing-but of course decent-robes who would willingly cleave with him to produce an heir; to sweet boy cherubs who would fulfill his wildest dreams, and of course that of their fathers; and to brawny young men with shaved and oiled chests should his interest be of an older bedmate. Each, certain his gift was the most favoured of all, retired to the long rows of tables laden with such delicacies as the tongues of hummingbirds, the eggs of ostriches, and strange new fruits from a faraway land where it was said the people had skin black as the night and wore in their noses bones of the enemies they'd eaten.

Late in the day those well-wishers lowest on the Lord Chamberlain's list were presented, the very last a monk whose robes were of an order nobody recognized and who insisted in a deep and dark voice he remain cowled even before the Fierce Tiger of the Jungle, bearing a most unlikely gift, a thin, frightened boy with an identical cowl obscuring his face and wearing a clean but tattered tunic that revealed skin so pale it was almost white, a boy of about eleven from the glimpses one had of the boy's private parts. Those closest to the Lord smiled indulgently, knowing the Tiger of the Jungle had no interest in boys, and certainly not one so poor and fragile. Those smiles turned to shock when the mysterious priest, rather than prostrating himself as was expected, gave his Lord the slightest nod of respect, as an equal greeting an equal.

Being a gracious man, or perhaps simply tired after a long procession, Lord Bamorong showed no offense, and having received the last of his gifts, he stood and thanked the guests, and as food and drink was brought to him, minstrels sang and musicians played for the Lord and his guests. As the sun began to set, the strange monk approached the Master of Ceremonies and said the boy he had brought had a song for the Lord and his guests. Not wishing to offend the sensibilities of his Lord, and knowing the folly of allowing the gift of one sycophant over another, the Master was about to refuse when the Lord Chamberlain, out of amusement, and out of annoyance over the priest's attitude, indicated he should be allowed. So it was announced and the boy stepped forward. His thin, slender fingers slowly removed his cowl and the guests gasped at the beauty of the boy's face. The features were delicate, as if blown from glass, his eyes sparkled like emeralds, and his gorgeous, long, curly hair was like spun gold. And he began to sing.

Not expecting much, they continued with their conversations and merrymaking, but one by one they stopped and turned in wonder as the melodious voice reached out like the tendrils of the legendary Sirennae, weaving amongst the people and capturing them. His voice was soft, barely audible, and they strained to hear him. He sang of the glory and the natural beauty of the Land of the Tiger Eye; he sang of its history and envious position in the centre of the world and its favour in the eyes of the gods and the hearts of the priests in attendance were filled with joy; he sang of glorious and ferocious battles and the Marshall of the Royal Army and his Commanders were filled with pride and Emissaries from other lands who were present were filled with gladness that they were considered allies of such a great people.

He sang of love, love of the people for their Lord, and the love of Lord Bamorong for the people, and the hearts of all were filled with happiness and contentment. He sang of the love between a man and a woman, of a woman for a woman, and of a man for a man, and they listened in wonder how a child of eleven could know of such love with such feeling and truth. He sang of lust, lust between a man and a woman, between young lovers and between married couples in their golden years, of a man for a man, of a woman for a woman, and between men and boys. As they listened their hearts pumped faster and their blood grew hot, and as they felt a tension building in their chests, so they felt it growing in their loins. They inhaled and exhaled deeply with growing desire, each thinking of the object of his or her desire, and as their minds were filled with the most lustful of thoughts so were their hearts filled with ferocious desire and their loins throbbed as their flesh became turgid and pulsated hotly. Those most honoured and seated nearest the Defender of the People could see the young boy's tender noodle begin to rise through the tears in his tattered tunic, and though none would acknowledge it, they also saw the rising of desire in the lap of their Lord. Greater and greater their lust became as they sat transfixed by the Songbird's song. Their minds and bodies ached for release, the need desperately building with each utterance until they were certain their hearts would burst with the strain or their loins would flood with that sweetest and most painful of pleasures. It was like having one long, continuous orgasm and they tensed and strained and when at last the Songbird sang his final note they swooned as a wave of the purest love and the hottest lust they had ever felt swept over them, and more than one realized in their daze that the cream of lust had overflowed its swollen, throbbing vessel and flooded their loins. There arose in the great hall a thunderous ovation, each man and woman having never felt such rapture and awe, Lord Bamorong among them.

They looked about for the mysterious monk, but the man had disappeared. The festivities ended abruptly, everyone's energy and strength drained. As they left they marvelled at the song they had heard, but to the one, nobody could recall a single word. Lord Bamorong retired to his royal bedchamber with the adjoining chamber prepared for the Songbird. He did not call the boy to his bed, however, for no physical sport could match the splendour of having heard him sing.

The next day news of the Songbird swept through the land as did Lord Bamorong's servitors in search of the mysterious monk, but he could not be found. That night, after his repast, Lord Bamorong retired to his bedchamber and called for his Songbird for a private song. The barefoot boy entered, now dressed in the finest of silks draped loosely and suggestively over his prepubescent body, the different coloured scarves overlapping each other but revealing enticing glimpses of his pale, soft boy-flesh. His fine, golden hair, freshly washed and brushed, curled over his ears and his forehead and was threaded with silver thread as fine as spider silk. That was the boy's only adornment. No kohl lined his eyes, no henna blushed his cheeks, and no rouge was applied to his naturally cherry-red lips. No perfumes anointed his body as none were as pleasing nor as erotic as the natural fragrance of boy.

He bowed respectfully, and taking his place before the Master Over all That Is, Was, and Will Be, he began to sing. The subject of his song and the words he sang have not been recorded since being for ears of the Favoured son Xiu, it would not be proper for the likes of you and me to know them. What has been recorded and has survived the eons to this day is the reaction of Lord Bamorong, in his own hand. It is written that he wept with the greatest of joy, the tears streaming unabashedly down his cheeks; that his heart swelled with such pride that he was sure it would burst; that his soul was filled with such peace and contentment as can only be known at the moment it arrives in Heaven and kneels before Xiu; and that his loins ached with the lust of a bridegroom on his wedding night. As the boy sang he dropped the silken veils he was wearing one by one, revealing his slender neck, his thin, prepubescent chest, his narrow waist, a graceful, curving calf, his compact, white buttocks, a slender thigh, his soft, slender noodle and his tender hummingbird eggs, loosely dangling and not yet darkened by a boy's Age of Coming.

The Fierce Tiger of the Jungle could not speak such was the beauty of the boy and the lust in his loins, but he did not need to. The Songbird approached, and sitting on the soft bed, he looked up at his Master with the trusting, innocent eyes of an eleven-year-old boy and they kissed. His lips were soft as the petals of a rose and just as sweet, his breath as fresh as the morning breeze drifting over the dew. The old man gently caressed the boy's smooth, tapering back and his baby-soft, undefined breasts, stroking them and squeezing them, teasing the two little pink buds until the tender boy-nipples were firm and hot. His hands descended over the narrow waist to massage the baby-smooth buttocks, caressing them and kneading them lovingly as his passion, and the flesh under his royal robes, rose. He bent over and kissed the boy's slender thighs, his lips skipping lightly down one and then up the other, and he inhaled the heady, unique fragrance of boy where the two met. His little noodle was soft and limp, his eggs smooth as satin. The Favoured Son of Xiu kissed and caressed the boy with all the love and tenderness of the boy's personal song for the Lord, and as that love had grown to lust in the boy's song, so did the Lord's love turn to lust for the boy as he fondled his delicacies and they began to swell.

The flesh of the Lord swollen by the boy's song had remained firm despite the hours that had past in their lovemaking, and he now parted his robes and revealed his mighty staff to the boy, who bowed and paid reverence to it with his lips and his tongue, basting it with his saliva, and then the golden-haired boy turned and presented his smooth, compact globes to his Lord. With his heart beating wildly in his chest, the Fierce Lord of the Jungle mounted the boy, plunging his staff up the boy's tender, virgin buttocks, and he rode the boy savagely, the lust he'd felt in his mind and in his heart during the boy's song that night and the night before multiplied tenfold by the delight of having his swollen staff surrounded by hot, throbbing, moist boyflesh. The boy tightened and relaxed the opening to his treasure box in time with the man's thrusts, much to his delight. On and on they trysted, their flesh throbbing hotter and hotter, their desire climbing higher and higher, until at last the mighty Lord exploded. His seed gushed up the core of his numb, swollen member and filled the young boy's pulsating rectum, gushing up his intestines and into his stomach, overflowing the tender, young vessel and running down his smooth thighs until at last the Master was drained and the two collapsed as the bedchamber spun about them.

The mighty Lord of the Land of the Tiger Eye joined his honoured ancestors some years afterward, but before he did, to the surprise and dissent of nobody, the Songbird was declared his heir. As for the strange priest, he was never found. Some say that he was an immortal, and the Songbird a gift from the gods to the former Lord. Others say he was the Mighty Xiu Himself and that the Songbird was his personal catamite. If the truth was ever known, it has been long buried under the sands of time. Thus endth the ancient tale of the Gift of the Songbird.

Michael's Birthday Party

Flavius was not fond of the slave markets but he was helping his cousin with a problem that he had only just heard about.

In spite of being, at fourteen, the youngest provincial governor in the Empire, for many centuries, he commanded considerable respect and the market manager approached bowing respectfully.

"I'm looking for a Brian Masters." Flavius said, "He was sentenced the day before yesterday. Here's his picture. As you can see he's quite a cute eleven year old but he's a bit old for the brothels so I'm hoping that you've held him back for a specialist sale."

"I'll check, Your Excellency." the Manager replied, "If he's not here then I'm sure I can find something similar."

"No. It's got to be Brian. I'm looking for a birthday present for his brother."

"Ah I see. I'll do my best but it's still possible he's already been sold. I'm sorry, Your Excellency, if I'd known 3;"

He trailed off nervously.

"It's not your fault." Flavius replied, "If I'd known sooner, I'd have flagged him in the court documents."

"Thank you, Your Excellency." the manager's relief evident, "You're right about the brothels. The top age for a boy is ten. We're building up stock for our auction tomorrow so unless there's been a private sale you should be in luck."

The manager continued, "If you'd care to wait here in the office I'll go see if I can find him without you having to visit the cages. I'll be back as quick as I can, Your Excellency."

Flavius was used to fast service but even he was impressed at how quickly the manager returned, though he frowned at the frightened look on the man's face.

"We found him easily, Your Excellency." the manager explained reluctantly added, "He's been causing a lot of trouble, yelling that he's a friend of the Governor and shouting abuse. He was being whipped.

"Whipped or flogged?" Flavius asked.

"It was a hundred lashes of the whip. " the manager replied, worriedly, "His back will heal in time. If that hadn't settled him then a flogging would have been next. We would have shredded his back before crucifying him as an example to the others."

"Good. Will he stand another whipping across his front?" Flavius asked.

"I can find out from the medic. We used a light whip appropriate to his age. He should be OK."

Flavius replied, "I don't like people using my name like that. I'd be grateful if you would make it clear why he's being whipped."

The manager picked up the phone again.

"It's being done, Your Excellency." the manager said, "May I ask. If the boy is to be a birthday present, won't his brother be upset if he's been beaten?"

Flavius smiled grimly.

"The brother, Michael is in hospital. He's thirteen by the way. He's in my cousin Marcus' class at school. Marcus and Michael got on because they both liked books and they are both pretty bright. I've met Michael. He's a gentle artistic boy. I like him but he couldn't handle me or my friends. We're far too rough."

The market manager laughed.

"Brian, is a bully. He's too young to make his girlfriend pregnant but he has no trouble using his cock to fuck Michael or anyone else he can control. It all came to a head when Michael got beaten up by someone else's older brother. Apparently Brian had been using Michael's friendship with Marcus to claim that he had Palace protection.

"The school authorities know me well enough so they knew that it couldn't be true. They covered their butts by handing it over to the police for a full investigation. He was robbing the other kids of their pocket money as well as bullying them into stealing.

"He still should have got away with a school punishment but he was too used to bullying his way out of trouble and and started yelling that Marcus was in on the rackets and if they punished him, then they'd have to punish Marcus.

"There was an investigation and there was just no connection between Brian and Marcus except through Michael."

"The father is a real nasty piece of work. He beat Michael up again and put him in hospital for testifying against his brother and splitting the family up.

"Buying Brian is Marcus' idea. He's planning a spectacle for Michael's birthday to prove that he's out of Brian's shadow for ever.

"I had heard something of it all, Your Excellency." the manager said, "I just hadn't connected it to this boy. I'll arrange the sale immediately."

"Don't do any permanent damage while you've got him but feel free to make an example of him. Make him as uncomfortable as possible. The only secret is where he's going. I'll give you the address but he's not to know. Send him in a closed container. One of those boxes you use for coffins will do."

"It's all part of his punishment is it?" the manager asked.

Flavius nodded.

"Oh yes. By all accounts, he's a nasty piece of work and I want him broken.

Brian was lying on his cell floor, sobbing, in agony from the whippings. He looked sullenly up as the cell door opened. The manager strode in and shocked him with a prod. Brian screamed but did not move. He screamed again as he was shocked again and, getting the message, stood up putting his hands behind his head, waiting obediently.

"You were right." the manager said, "The Provincial Governor is interested in your case but not in the way you thought. He's furious that you tried to implicate his cousin. I don't think that you're going to live to see your twelfth birthday. Now turn round and face the wall."

The manager almost began to feel sorry for Brian as the horror struck boy turned deathly white. His back was a deep red with traces of purple. Here and there spots of bright showed where the skin had been broken but the manager was satisfied that it would heal. He handcuffed the boy then had a slave chain his ankles together.

The pre-adolescent arse was was definitely inviting him to fuck the boy and he was sorely tempted. Despite his youth, Flavius was developing a reputation for being a good friend and a dangerous enemy. He respected those who openly opposed him but was cruel and merciless to anyone who betrayed him. The manager's thoughts drifted towards Flavius. He also had a reputation for being a good fuck and taking a lot of punishment in the process.

The manager shrugged regretfully. Business before pleasure. He would gain a lot more by keeping Flavius on side. As he guided the boy into a small cramped punishment cell he contented himself with letting his hands explore the boy before closing the door and leaving Brian alone in the pitch black to consider his fate.

Back at the palace Flavius was talking to Marcus.

"HMichael's a lot better." Marcus said, "He'll make a full recovery."

"How are your plans going?" Flavius asked.

Marcus frowned.

"It's weird. Michael seems really worried about his brother. I don't know what to make of it."

"He's family." Flavius said, "Of course he's worried about him. Are you sure about this spectacle? It may upset Michael more."

"No. I'm not sure about the spectacle and I'm not sure about Michael any more." Marcus said, "This sounds daft but Brian tried to get me into trouble, implicate you and even tried blaming his father. The one person he left out was Michael. I've been to their house. The father didn't dare stop me. The good stuff was on Michael's side of the room. I recognised some of it as stolen. You know, I'd seen boys with it at school.

Marcus paused thoughtfully.

"It's also the way Michael talks about Brian. Once or twice he's said, 'I told Brian to 3;', or something like it. If Brian was such a bully, how does Michael tell him to do anything?"

"There's probably an explanation." Flavius said, "But if you're really uneasy maybe we should investigate. The slave market is softening Brian up a bit. He's being delivered to Brutus' fort. Let me work on him then you turn up all concerned. Maybe he'll open up to you.

Marcus laughed, "It's called tough cop/soft cop. It might work."

Brutus was Flavius' friend. His grandfather had been a vicious sadist who had built a torture chamber in a compound on his estates. Brutus had found it and adapted to his own use. He and another friend, Steven liked to push their limits using the equipment there but it was called The Fort because it was also a place they could call their own.

Brian was in no fit state to notice when he arrived. He was still in chains. He had been alone for most of the last few days and when anyone arrived it had meant more agony from a cane, whip or prod. When he had been bundled into the coffin, he was convinced that he was going to be buried alive. He had panicked and had screamed himself hoarse, begging to be let out. His ankles and wrists were bleeding from his struggles to escape the manacles.

He stood inside the fort, blinking in the sunlight, being hosed down. The smell from the coffin, where he had shit and pissed himself made the other boys wrinkle their noses in disgust. It was quickly resealed. Slaves took it away and burnt it.

Flavius looked at the young hairless body with it's cute little cock and balls showing the first signs of manhood and just the beginnings of adult muscle development.

"We'll spread eagle him on the frame." Flavius said, "Then use him for target practice. It'll be interesting to see how many air gun pellets he can take."

Brian did not react. He was in a dead spot beyond emotion.

Flavius turned to Marcus. "If you want to fuck him first, take him through to the bedroom. "I can wait until the others get here."

"Thirsty?" Marcus asked.

Brian flinched waiting for a blow then, when it did not arrive nodded cautiously, relaxing as he was led into the kitchen. Marcus held a cup to his lips and then some food.

"I'm sorry that I can't take the cuffs off." Marcus said, "Don't worry, though. I won't hurt you."

Brian grinned uncertainly. He finally began to believe Marcus in the bedroom when he was carefully propped up on the bed with pillows so the cuffs did not dig into his back.

Marcus lay beside him and gently massaged Brian's cock. He stroked the bound boy's thighs making him tremble with pleasure. For a moment Brian was happy, lost in another person's kindness.

Suddenly he burst into tears.

"I'm sorry." he sobbed, "I believed Michael. I really thought that you were like him. I only started wondering when the other prisoners didn't believe me."

Once the dam had burst, Brian could not stop talking, describing how Michael manipulated him. In private, Michael was a cruel bully, making his points by suggestion and innuendo leaving his victim thinking the trouble was his fault.

Michael stayed in hospital for some time enjoying the luxury of his own room, not caring that Marcus did not visit any more. He had the patronage he wanted with everyone feeling sorry for him. Thank the gods he didn't have to read those stupid books any more.

He was not suspicious on the day he was ready to go home when he was told that the Governor had sent a car for him. It only started to go wrong when a couple of men grabbed him, cuffed him and bundled him into the car boot.

The journey to The Fort was short and he was soon in the hands of Flavius and his friends being spread eagled as Flavius had threatened to do to Brian. A couple of slices with a knife and he was naked.

"You shouldn't have accepted the stuff that Marcus brought into hospital for you. You said it was yours when we knew it was stolen." Flavius said, "Oh and we chatted to some of your friends who you used like Brian. At least your father realised that things had gone too far and tried to stop you. He's under arrest as well. He's told us a lot. There's more. Shall I continue?"

Michael stared back sullenly, not responding. He had trained Brian to yell and shout and be highly visible while he had cultivated a quiet and unassuming air. He would have been a brilliant actor because he had fooled Flavius and that was not easy. It was only when he was alone with his victim, someone a little weaker than him, that his cruel side emerged. Along with his smooth talk they usually did what he wanted.

"I'm glad you understand." Flavius continued, "You tried to use my family name and I don't like that."

Michael was not in pain. He still had his weight on his feet. His cock stirred as it was caressed by a slight breeze. His ribcage was clearly defined and his stomach was flat, drawn tight by his outstretched arms.

He saw Brian fit and well, in a smart slave tunic with Marcus' arm around his shoulder comforting him. He watched as his other victims filed shyly into The Fort.

Flavius continued, "The hospital says that you're fit and well and all your friends are here to greet you. Marcus arranged it for you."

Michael's nerve finally failed him.

"Please," he cried, bursting into tears, "I'm sorry."

Flavius grinned but his eyes were were icy cold.

"You will be." He said, his voice cold and hard, "I've bought you from your father. It paid his fines. When I'm finished with you, I'll give you to Brian. He'll decide if you live or die. If you live, though, I promise you, you'll never forget this party. I've got a load of games lined up for you."

As Flavius spoke Brutus slipped a plastic mask over Michael's face.

"We're just protecting your pretty blue eyes." Brutus chuckled.

There was a pause then Michael yelled as something stung his chest just above his right nipple, embedding itself in the muscle.

"I nearly forgot." Flavius called out as he handed the air gun to one of the visitors, "Happy Birthday, Michael."