Date: Thu, 06 Mar 2008 09:28:24 -0500
From: carl_mason@verizon.net
Subject: DENNY LAWRENCE - 8

DENNY LAWRENCE - 8


Copyright 2008 by Carl Mason

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without
the written permission of the author.  However based on real events and
places, "Denny Lawrence" is strictly fictional.  Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.  As
in real life, sexual themes unfold gradually.  Comments on the story are
appreciated and may be addressed to the author at carl_mason@verizon.net

If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to
the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both
adults and teenagers.  As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the
personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults.  If you are not of
legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you
trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral
dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally, remember that maturity
generally demands safe sex.


CHAPTER 8

(Revisiting Chapter 7)

Due to working with Nate, it was quite late when he finally began preparing
to go home.  Not long before he left the Center, three teens were brought
in by the EMTs.  He overheard that they came from the same party where they
had overdosed.  Treatment had already begun as Denny walked out the door
and saw that parents and friends of the teens were arriving.  To his utter
horror, two of their friends were among the group with whom he had used
hard drugs.  Further, they recognized him in his white coat, shirt, and
pants just about as quickly as he recognized them.  This problem had not
come up in Family Court, and he wasn't at all sure that Pat Mahan knew
anything about it.  He had hoped that it would never be necessary to tell
him.

(Continuing Our Story - The Way of Truth Is Long and Hard)

"No, Pat...er I mean yes.  Yes, I knew about this during the trial.  I
didn't say anything about my drug use because 1) it didn't come up, and 2)
I was afraid that if I did, I'd be standing trial in Superior Court as an
adult.  Sensenbrenner wasn't in the best of moods!"

"You've received our trust and our love, Denny.  In keeping the full story
from us, do you think you've played square?  After all," Pat added, "many
people want nothing to do with addicts anymore than they do with
alcoholics.  For some it's a matter of putting scarce resources where they
can do the most good.  Shouldn't Baylor Associates have had that choice?
Shouldn't I have had that choice?"

The tears beginning to spill from his eyes down his cheeks, the seventeen
year-old set his chin and plowed doggedly ahead.  "You should have had that
choice, sir.  The truth, sir, is that I've tried both cocaine and heroin.
That's part of why I said in Court that I didn't want that life anymore.  I
don't know why the doctor missed it in his examination, but he did.  I
don't really care.  I just want the record straight between us.  I haven't
used that crap since...not once!"  The boy looked at Dr. Mahan with
regret...and with growing fear.  He had done so well since the Court - and
Pat Mahan - had given him a second chance.  His desire to reach out and
touch the man whom he so loved was like a red-hot coal searing his heart -
but he didn't dare.  It was beginning to look as if he'd really blown it.

"There's more, sir, and it's worse...I think.  The drug dealer got in touch
with me through the friends of a guy who overdosed.  He claims that I never
paid for my last drugs and that the bill and the interest have been
mounting ever since.  He claims that I now owe him fifteen thousand
dollars!"

"HOLY SHIT, Denny!" Pat exploded.  "Is that true?"  The young man who stood
before him presented a picture of utter despair.  Wiping the sweat from his
eyes with the back of his hands, he looked as if he might collapse at any
minute.  "I guess I forgot it, sir - but it was only $500.00, not fifteen
thousand!"  "You GUESS you forgot' it."  As Pat Mahan dramatically threw
his hands in the air and strode out of the room, Denny Lawrence dropped
into a nearby chair and broke into sobs that said he was not only
terrified, but that his heart was breaking.

Communication between the two men dried up markedly over the next week.
Dr.  Mahan gave no sign of being interested in pulling Denny's chestnuts
out of this fire.  Nothing was attempted on school matters.  Denny
continued to go to the Emergency room...out of habit more than anything
else.  Everything seemed to be on hold.  Actually, he felt that he was
being watched, but he said nothing either to Pat or to Dr.  Powell.  Coming
home late one night, he was sure that footsteps he heard were not his own.
When he looked, however, the street behind him was empty.  On Saturday, as
he stood outside washing Pat's car, a bullet whistled by his head and put a
hole in a window.  Perhaps it would be best, friends and workmates
suggested, if he moved out of Dr. Mahan's home.  Two nights later as he
made his way home, a van pulled up alongside him.  Two toughs threw a tarp
around him and, holding a knife at his throat, pulled him into the van.
When he neither returned home nor went into work the next day, Pat Mahan
scarcely knew what to think - or what he should do. Paralyzed by pain and
indecision, he did nothing.


No Longer an Honored Guest

Bound, blindfolded, hustled out of the van and into a large underground
area, Denny eventually found himself sprawled on the floor of a richly
appointed room.  Seated just in front of him was the area drug lord, Raoul
Dirksen.  "You don't pay your debts, Mr.  Lawrence," he purred ominously.
"Should we attempt to convince Dr. Mahan and others around you to be of
assistance in your eleventh hour?"  Struggling to rise, the youth replied,
"I know of no one who has that kind of money, Dirksen.  Besides, it's my
responsibility, and mine alone."  "I trust you realize I cannot allow you
to escape payment, muchacho.  Others would get the same idea," Dirksen said
quietly.  In rapid- fire Spanish, the powerful criminal ordered Denny to be
held for "Lazky's people" who would arrange for his sale as a slave on the
international black market.  "Before we are finished, muchacho, you will
repay your debt - and provide me a little profit at the same time," he
promised in a virtually emotionless voice.

Ordering that the boy be cleansed inside and out and strapped securely to a
fuck bench, the drug lord took him that evening in the detention area.
Afterwards, sitting next to the naked, trembling youth, he offered some
well-meant advice.  "You need to realize that you are dead to the world,
young man.  Repeat this to yourself continually, adjust to things as they
are, and focus only on pleasing your master.  With your beauty and youth,
life will be considerably more tolerable if you do."  With that, he reached
out and fondled Denny's genitals, saying, "I wish you well.  I wish you a
productive life."

The slave factor Bertram Lazky took possession of Denny the next morning.
His staff promptly saw to the youngster's physical condition, fought his
depression by giving him drugs and hope where they was no hope, and placed
a coded ad on the internet that gave his particulars, provided several
photos, and announced his imminent sale.  Interested parties might send
representatives to his Irish facilities to inspect the magnificent young
slave and, if approved, to take part in the auction that would be held on
19 August.  Bidding for this most desirable object would begin at two
hundred fifty thousand dollars, US.  Over the next two weeks, the agents of
several wealthy figures visited the slave factor in order to inspect Denny.
Lazky found three to have the requisite resources to win his ownership: a
"New Russian" entrepreneur, a Gulf sheikh, and a mysterious recluse from
the United States.

Given the popular prices of slaves - even those who stood at the pinnacle
of their service - the required opening bid at Lazky's was seen to be
ridiculous.  Well, everyone to his own tastes...and pocketbook.  In fact
bidding quickly raised Denny's price until it approached one million
dollars, US.  The small group of formally dressed onlookers who were
allowed to witness the auction gasped.  Never had such prices been bid for
the finest of slaves.  The sheikh, the absolute ruler of a bar of
infinitely oil-rich sand jutting out into the Gulf, made the penultimate
bid of nine hundred thousand dollars.  The mysterious American figure
immediately countered with a bid of one million dollars!  At that point,
the sheikh dropped out, saying, "A pretty thing, but no slave is worth that
kind of money."  Clearly, the mysterious stranger felt differently.

				***

A beautifully fashioned coffin stood on the basement floor of an old,
palatial home that overlooked the Atlantic well out on the Island, i.e.,
Long Island.  The woods were rich; the hardware, the finest available.
Nearby was a padded table that an old man, Tomas, had wheeled next to a
medium-sized table.  A profusion of soaps, shampoos, washcloths,
washbasins, towels, and the like crowded the table.  Finally, the old man
went over to the stairs that led up to the kitchen and pantries and shouted
for Stefan to come below.  A younger guy, dressed somewhat formally as if
he were a house servant, helped the old man carefully to unseal the coffin,
remove the heaviest of the inner wrappings and the emergency air supply,
and to lift the figure inside onto the padded table.  Stefan then returned
upstairs.

Gently, the old man removed the remaining wrappings, smiling as the
stunning body of a naked young man was disclosed.  Immediately, he cleaned
a small area of the youngster's chest with alcohol, took a syringe from a
tray and injected the clear liquid it held directly into his heart.  For
about a half hour, he puttered, washing a smudge of dirt from the figure's
face, moving his right thigh to a potentially more comfortable position,
clipping his fingernails (which weren't all that long in the first place),
and beginning to clean up from the helicopter delivery.  When he heard a
low moan and the sound of light choking, he immediately returned to the
table.  After quickly wiping the boy's face and upper body with a damp
washcloth, he helped him to sit up.  From that point on, his recovery from
the airfreight trip was rapid and free of setbacks.

It had to have been close to seven, for lights were on in the basement and
there was a smell of food in the air.  Denny, who had been lying on the
sofa, raised up on one elbow and wondered if he could have something to
eat.  "Calm ye, calm ye," Tomas scolded.  "You have been several days
without food.  When Stefan beings it downstairs, I shall give you a little
broth.  If you keep it down, we shall do considerably better in the
morning."  With a wide smile, he added, "Now lie back and be a good lad!"

Perhaps 15 or 20 minutes later, Tomas came over with a nice bowl of fresh
beef broth with a couple soda crackers and, sitting on the edge of the
sofa, fed it to him.  "Well now, laddie, how was that for tonight?" he
asked quietly when the last spoonful had been consumed.  Affectionately, he
reached over and brushed the dark blond hair out of his eyes.  Despite his
firm intention to "stay strong," tears trickled down the cheeks of the
seventeen year old.  "Oh, Tomas, what am I going to do?  Do you know that
the last memory I have before arriving here was of being fucked while
strapped to a bench!  What kind of life is that?"  "Laddie!  Laddie!,"
Tomas comforted him.  "That was then; this is now.  That was there; this is
here.  You're home lad!  You're safe!  You've got a master who loves ye, a
master who takes care of ye, a master who is a great man respected by all
far and wide.  I became a slave at the age of 16, Denny, and I've been a
slave for 60 years.  Do you see me weepin' and fearin'?  Do you want me to
tell you how to make it through this life in fine style?"

"Please, Tomas - and thanks so very much," Denny answered.

"Very well, stripling.  Remember this: All that matters in this world is
you and your master.  Think of him with love and find ways to please him.
When you awaken in the morning, let his face smile down upon you.  When you
go to sleep at night, let the last image you see be the face of your
beloved master.  Let every good thing you do during the day be done in his
name, and let none hear but his praises from your lips.  I promise that you
will find that your whole life makes sense as its parts finally work
together harmoniously.  See what I mean?"

"Yes, Tomas, I think so...and I will try."

"You are very fortunate to be here, youngster.  I know you will.  As your
great beauty adds light and grace to my days, I shall help you in every way
possible.  Now, hear this: I believe the master must be close to finishing
dinner.  I expect that he will be down here to inspect his new purchase
before long.  Make old Tomas proud!"

As usual, Tomas knew what was going to happen in the mansion at least a
half hour before it happened.  It was not too long before the master made
an appearance, although he seemed to hesitate a moment before finally
allowing the light to uncover his identity.  Asking Tomas to leave them, he
walked over to the padded table where Denny was sitting.  For a minute or
two, the youngster's heart warred with his mind.  Whatever else might be
said, Oliver Culver had made him a SLAVE, an owned object rather than a
free human being.  Then, however, his mind's eye pictured him that last
night in New York City, and the fire and blood left his eyes.  It pictured
him as he grasped the elder man's hand, pulled it against him, and guided
its touching him intimately (see Chapter 6).  Further, he knew that Culver
so loved him that a million dollars was not enough to keep them apart.
Suddenly, his own thoughts receded into the background as he listened to
the powerful silver hair's words.  "I knew I loved you from the first
moment that I came out from behind my desk in the City.  When I saw you
nude for the first time on that dais, I thought I needed nothing more in
this world before I could die happy.  You had given me everything.  When
the great poets of the Classical Age thought of beauty, they clearly had
you in mind.

"Hear me out, Denny.  I no longer can treat you like an honored guest, for
fate has decreed that you are a slave, and slavery is for life.
Nevertheless, if you will submit to me as your master, giving me complete,
immediate, and cheerful obedience, I shall give you a life far better than
any you could dream.  I do not need your full answer tonight though I do
pray that you will eventually open your heart to me as you did that night
in the City.  By way of a "short answer," Denny leapt down off the gurney,
fell to his knees, and pressed his forehead against the cement floor.
Culver immediately helped him rise to his feet in a warm embrace that
quickly evolved into a passionate kiss.


To Be Continued