Date: Tue, 30 May 2006 16:25:20 +0200
From: Julian Obedient <julian.obedient@gmail.com>
Subject: Love and Power

Teddy got to work late.

As he passed Mr. DaPonte's desk in the front office on his way to his
cubicle, he saw Mr. DaPonte look at him.  He didn't say anything, but
he looked, and a rush of anxiety and then a flame of impotent fury
rose in Teddy's gut and quickly sputtered into a burning pain of
self-pity and resentment.

Was it even five minutes later that Gloria, smelling of her lavender
powder, high heels clicking on the tiles lining the corridor outside
the cubicles, looked in and, with no precedent good morning, said, you
need to see Mr. DaPonte in the conference room at 11:45 this morning?

The statistics were late, the reports were badly organized, the
information wasn't analyzed, his attitude often seemed lackadaisical,
as if he were really some place else and not there.

Mr. DaPonte spoke slowly, making sure the traces of his southern drawl
came through his crisp speech.  He was a well-built, good-looking
young man, in his late twenties, not very much older than Teddy. He
had jet black hair, strong eyebrows and a sharp nose. He wore his hair
short, slicked back with gel, but standing up, not flat; it gleamed in
rows of thick strands.

He carried his suits well, like a model in a men's clothing magazine.
His dark sideburns were cut low and square. When he smiled his whole
personality gleamed, but he only smiled to confer approval, as a
reward, hardly ever expressing his own open-hearted enjoyment. His
eyes were cobalt blue, not the brown or green you would expect them to
be. When he did not smile, which was most of the time, his expression
was stern, forbidding, unnerving, suggesting that you'd be wise to
reconsider something (it was up to you to figure out what) and shape
up.

Across from Mr. DaPonte sat Teddy staring at his own bare hands
resting on the conference table, so different from that man's long,
strong fingers graced by several imposing rings. Head bent slightly,
he nodded as his superior outlined his failings, wishing the ground
might open beneath him and he might drop from sight, preferably
falling into his own bed where all this would only be a dream from
which he would soon wake into a world where he could find himself at
ease, unthreatened, a different person from the one he was, someone
more like Giovanni DaPonte and less like Teddy Blum.

There'd be a performance review in three months, not six, and the
company needed to see real improvement or, well, that was pretty
obvious. Meanwhile, Teddy would have to come in early every Tuesday
morning to meet with him to see how he could improve his work
performance.  You might call it an informal probation he'd be on until
the three-months review.

How does that sound? Mr. DaPonte asked, and Teddy understood how he
was expected to respond, and answered, It ought to be helpful,
inwardly resenting that an hour of his sleep was being taken from him
willy-nilly so that this smug bastard could satisfy his need to assert
his self-importance and his power.

I hope so, Mr. DaPonte said.  I'm rooting for you.  I want to see you succeed.

Teddy looked sheepish and didn't say anything.

Look, Teddy, Mr. DaPonte said, his voice softening and a tone of
camaraderie and care entering into it, it seems to me you have some
problems with concentration.

I try to pay attention to what I'm doing, but...

But?

But my mind keeps blanking out.

Inwardly DaPonte was pleased, but he didn't show it. The look on his
face suggested he was skeptical. Teddy's palms were moist.

Do you sleep at night?

I sleep, said Teddy, his head swimming.

It's discipline, fella, Mr. DaPonte said with a wink, surprising in
its intimacy.  You lack discipline, discipline and self-control. It
makes a world of difference when you can discipline yourself and
accomplish the tasks you set yourself.  It's a good feeling to be in
control. I bet you're unfamiliar with it.

Teddy was silent. He was looking at the pale plum colored handkerchief
in the breast pocket of Mr. DaPonte's charcoal gray suit.

Am I right? Mr. DaPonte's jaw was square and his voice quiet.

I don't know said Teddy.

I do, Mr. DaPonte said, and I want to do something about it.  I said I
want to see you succeed, and I meant it. If you work with me, you can.
 But you'll have to give yourself to it. What do you think? More than
just this job is riding on it, you know. It's your own sense of
self-respect.

Teddy wasn't sure exactly what his boss was talking about or what was
expected of him, but he understood that if he didn't agree, he'd be
out of a job. In addition,  Mr. DaPonte was exercising, as he always
did, a subtle power over him.  He was, he realized, afraid of this
man; he felt small in comparison to him and was afraid of his
disapproval. He shot a glance at the man's eyes, but lowered his
immediately.

Mr. DaPonte continued. You know that the company is instituting some
new policies to improve office morale and workplace discipline
starting in the fall. Male employees will be required to wear jackets
and ties, no more jeans, and a twice weekly workout in the gym will
become mandatory for everyone.

I know, Teddy said.

Let's begin now.

He was being told, not asked. Teddy knew that.

Ok, he said, not quite sure of what they were going to begin.

Do you have any questions? Mr. DaPonte asked.

I don't think so, Teddy said because he was beyond even being able to
know what he was supposed to be asking about.

Giovanni DaPonte knew that. That was good.

Tuesday morning at eight, and Mr. DaPonte put out his hand and Teddy
had to shake it, embarrassed at the strength of the man's grip, and
completely unable to meet his gaze.

Why don't you take your lunch now?

Ok, Teddy said.

All afternoon, Teddy was sleepy at his desk and kept having to pull
himself out of the vortex of half-conscious images that swirled into
his mind as he read the reports he was synopsizing for Mr. Farrell.
Finally, however, he was finished.  He saved the work onto disk,
labeled the disk Mid-East Oil Resources and Logistics: Administration,
and gave it to Gloria on his way out.

Doing anything special this weekend? Her tone was familiar rather than
friendly.

Not particularly, he responded.

Always full of enthusiasm, she said.

2

Teddy's mother's apartment on the Upper West Side was larger than she
needed, but she hadn't moved after she divorced his father and after
he himself had moved out and gone to college.

As he set out for Waltham six years ago come September, Teddy knew in
his heart, even then. He remembered the last night at home in that
apartment, as he was packing the last things. Already there was in him
the sinking feeling that it was vanity, that he would never amount to
anything, that he was fatally flawed, fatally floored. If it had only
been indifference!  But it wasn't.  It was desire that was the fatal
flaw, a desire that burned hot and charred him, inside out, until
there was only the coldness of ash that remained of him, nothing that
could again be kindled.  That was it.  The warmth of liveliness could
not come from him, was only a memory of what once was his.  Now to
feel a living warmth the warmth had to come from somewhere else. And
why should anyone bring their fire to his frigidity?

His mother's chicken had been dry, the potatoes mealy, the brown betty
soggy. She finished her cigarette.  The sun was falling below the
Hudson and the sky was ablaze.

I did resent you after that she said pulling a deep drag and exhaling
slowly. Did you think I should be dead to the world just because I was
your mother?  I'd had enough of that, for years, first with your
father, then worrying about you, being embarrassed by you. You made
scenes, couldn't look people in the eye, didn't go out to play like
the other boys.  Always in the house, lost in a comic book or watching
television. When you did go out, it was to go to the movies.

That's why you threw away my collection of Marvel comics.

That was not good reading for a growing boy.

They'd be worth a hell of a lot of money today if I still had them.

If you'd apply yourself and go on to law school as you'd planned, she
retorted, you wouldn't have to talk about money all the time.

I don't ask you for any.

What makes you think I have it to give?

She looked at the clock.

Good gracious, she cried.  Look at the time.  Lou will be here in half
an hour.

Lou?

Yeah, Lou.  We're going dancing.  Is that alright with you or do I
need to get your permission first?

Don't start with me, Mother.

I shouldn't start!  You can't even be polite when he's around.

Don't worry. I'll leave now. I won't be here when he gets here.

You resent that I should enjoy myself.

I resent being involved in this.

I wish you'd grow up already.

So do I.

Aren't you going to kiss me good-bye.

Good-bye mother, he said, complying.

Good-bye, Teddy.  Call me during the week.

3

The office was closed Monday for Easter. Tuesday morning Teddy woke up
early from fitful sleep, showered, shaved, but didn't get his cheeks,
chin, or the skin on his jaw really smooth, took a vitamin, drank a
cup of instant coffee and ate a raw muffin dipped in honey, standing
up. Remembering he had to wear a jacket and tie, he rummaged through
his closet for the only jacket he had, a beat up, olive corduroy.  He
wore a short sleeve white shirt and a brown paisley tie. Slacks were a
problem.  He usually wore dungarees, but he found a pair of khakis he
figured would do. His gray Nikes were probably ok. It was warm enough
to go without a coat. He combed his hair but it still looked unkempt.
He was on the subway platform at seven fifteen and stood at Mr.
DaPonte's desk at ten to eight.

Good morning, Ted.  You're early.  I'll be with you soon. Sit down.

Ok, Teddy grunted, a hint of resentment sounding in his voice.

Mr. DaPonte looked at him with what appeared to be a certain amount of
disdain.

If we're going to do this right, he said, and get a good sense of
self-discipline, he said, and self-respect, we're going to have to be
more formal, more dignified, more respectful. Let's start with the way
we address each other.  "Teddy" isn't appropriate. It's Ted from now
on.  And as long as I'm mentoring you, you'll call me Sir

Sir? Teddy said.

Yes, Mr. DaPonte said. Sir.

Teddy didn't believe this nonsense was actually transpiring, but he
felt trapped.

Sir, Teddy said making a face. He realized immediately he oughtn't have.

Are we serious or are you fucking with me? Mr. DaPonte said icily.

Teddy was jolted silent, hit by a chill of fear.

Look, guy, if you want to continue your employment with us, you have
to be here.  You're on probation. If you don't want to do this, you
don't have to.  I'll speak to personnel and they'll prepare the
necessary termination papers.

I need this job, Teddy said.

Then face it, fella, you need this training, too. So, one more time.
Are you seriously going to cooperate with me?

Teddy had lost the force to resist. Beaten and without irony he
answered, I think so, Sir.

Better, Mr. DaPonte said. Now speak with decisiveness.  It's yes or
no, not I think so.  Do you understand?

Yes, Sir, Ted answered.

Good, Mr. DaPonte said, becoming less threatening. Let's get down to business.

Yes, Sir.

I'm going to show you how to focus your attention and how to concentrate.

Mr. DaPonte stood up and shut the overhead light, and, since there
were no windows in the conference room, even though the full light of
morning was now flooding the air outside, it was entirely dark.

Shining the pin-point beam of a small, pen-shaped flashlight in Ted's
eyes Mr. DaPonte said quite slowly, and deepening his southern drawl,
Now Ted I want you to look at this point of light and as I wave it
about in front of you I want you to concentrate on following the light
with your eyes, without moving your head. Focus on the beam of light.
Concentrate all your attention on following the path of the light as
it waves back and forth, slowly back and forth.

Feel your eyes getting heavier.  Feel how heavy your head is. It would
be so easy to let your eyelids flutter and shut. But you don't want
to. You want to discipline yourself.  You are concentrating on
resisting the pressure to shut your eyes.

Ted struggled to resist, and stiffened the muscles around his eyes
until he succeeded, and his eyes became fixed, wide open with a glazed
intensity.

4

Ted was scanning his computer screen searching through his e-mail at
eight-forty-five with no memory that anything had happened earlier
that morning beyond a meeting with Mr. DaPonte. It had left him
feeling a lot better than he had expected to, primarily because he had
gotten through it, criticisms and all.

The primary criticism Mr. DaPonte had made was about his physical
appearance.  He had resented being told, but he finally had to
concede, even to himself, that Mr. DaPonte was right. He was lazy and
it was beginning to show in his bearing.  He didn't stand tall and
proud in his body. He lacked firmness, strength, tone, dedication.  He
was soft. And that contributed to his inability to focus on his work
and to his lack of concentration in general.

He had not wanted to face it because getting into the shape, getting
the hard, lean muscled body he knew he wished he had seemed like such
a far-fetched dream to him, so unlike his sense of himself, that he
felt embarrassed. He covered up the embarrassment and the need to look
for its cause by assuming defeat and saying it wasn't even worth
trying. He gave up without a fight. He felt ashamed of that now. And
as for the way he dressed it showed no respect for anyone else or for
himself, either. Mr. DaPonte told him that, and he was right.  He had
no self-respect. And anyone could walk all over him. He wasn't
anchored.

When Mr. DaPonte criticized the way he was dressed Ted objected that
he had done what Mr. DaPonte had told him to do, wear a jacket and tie
and not jeans, and he knew he was weaseling.  Mr. DaPonte became
angry, and Ted felt cold fear and a sticking pain in his shoulder. He
knew he'd done the wrong thing. There was no excuse. He'd been
disrespectful. He still felt pained when he thought about it now, and
he felt embarrassed that he was dressed inappropriately. He stayed in
his cubicle all day, burrowed in his work, trying not to be seen.

Almost in tears, but afraid to let his boss see him cry, he had
apologized to Mr. DaPonte and promised it would not happen again. Mr.
DaPonte was unbending, but ordered Ted to meet him after work at the
gym where they would begin body training, and afterwards he told Ted
he'd take him over to his place to see if they could find some
appropriate clothes for him to wear to the office.

5

Giovanni pulled down his black speedo and pushed the boy's face to his
crotch. He was broad shouldered and muscle powerful under his high
fashion suits.

Do you know what you are?

No, Sir, Ted answered, but it sounded like begging.

You worship cock. You're a cock worshipper.  What are you?

I'm a cock worshipper, Sir.

Whose cock do you worship?

I worship your cock, Sir.

Giovanni was pleased to hear complete obedience in the voice. His
power excited him and his cock stood hard in front of him.

Gently on command Ted closed his lips around his superior's cock and
began to ride up and down on it with his mouth taking it all the way
to the back of his throat. His glazed eyes were closed.

Giovanni saw the boy's broad, square, naked shoulders and his trim
body. He'd have no trouble fashioning this one into iron in a matter
of months. He felt the pride of ownership, the exhilaration of mastery
and the power of his cock.

He slept with Ted that night and in the morning sent him to work
properly groomed and attired and without any memory of not having
slept at home.

6

I am pleased with you, Ted, Mr. DaPonte said, giving him his interim
evaluation report to sign.

Thank you, Sir, Ted responded, with an imperceptible bow.

Your performance is greatly improved.  Mr. Farrell was impressed with
the quality of your report on natural resources in the Fertile
Crescent. The information you gathered is going to be very useful to
us.  You know that, but I'm glad to tell it to you. I can also see a
great improvement in your concentration and in your ability to apply
yourself to what you have to do.

You've gotten addicted to being obedient, and it's become a craving
for you. Congratulations!  It shows in your work.  And your physical
appearance has greatly improved; so have your pride and
self-possession.

Thank you, Sir, Ted said.

Indeed he was a different man. He stood square and straight in front
of Mr. DaPonte's desk, almost like a soldier at attention, but easily,
while his supervisor sat in the rich leather swivel chair behind it.

Ted was wearing a three button, worsted Armani suit Mr. DaPonte had
taken from his closet that night and given to him to wear.

It was a pale brown with a blue-gray chalk stripe.  The trousers fit
tight but flowed gracefully to their cuffs. His shoes were teak
colored wing tips.  His tie was a royal blue and copper brocade with
dials and flowering paisleys swirling against a field of satin, navy
blue. The knot was a tight Windsor. There was a silk khaki colored
breast pocket handkerchief, too, to match his shirt and socks.  He
wore an unobtrusive pewter ring on his left pinky and a band of
titanium threaded with jade on his right index finger. His hair was
cut short and combed like a junior executive's. He had lost a few
pounds and stood lithe and loose.  His chin and cheek bones had become
prominent and his jaw more set.  His lips were broad and full, and the
bend of his nose kept your eyes riveted to his face.

But you still have quite a way to go before I can say I'm satisfied with you.

Yes, Sir.

You want me to be satisfied with you, don't you, Ted?

Yes, Sir, I do.

Good, Ted. You were made to obey.

Upon hearing his trigger phrase, which Mr. DaPonte had implanted
during the first session and had used in the many training sessions in
pride and servitude since, Ted went deeply into trance.

Ted, we're going to advance to the next stage in your training. Tell
me, what are your feelings about me?

I admire you, Sir.

Why?

Because you are powerful, Sir.

What else do you feel?

Ted was silent.

I am attracted to you, Sir.

Why, Ted?

I don't know, Sir. Perhaps because you are my superior, Sir.

What else do you feel?

I am afraid of you, Sir.

Why, Ted?

I just am, Sir.

Can you hear me, Ted?

Yes, Sir.

You will continue to admire me, only your admiration will grow
stronger.  You will continue to be attracted to me, only the
attraction will become stronger. It will be full of desire and longing
which you will not be able to satisfy. You will continue to be afraid
of me, only the fear will be greater.

You will think of me all the time and daydream about being my slave,
serving me and submitting to me.

You want me to be your master.  It excites you to realize I own you.

You will fantasize about obeying me without thought. You will be
afraid not to because I can cause you pain. You cannot resist me or
avoid me.

Become aware of your shoulder, your right shoulder, Ted.  Now begin to
feel the pain at the center of your shoulder emanating from the very
bone itself. It is an agonizing scream of pain locked in your bones.

Ted writhed in sudden agony.

That is your punishment when ever I choose to administer it. I will
administer it or another punishment just as strong whenever I am
displeased with you or whenever I choose to discipline you. I have
this power because I own you.  When I tell you what to do, you must
obey.  You have no choice because my choice is your choice.  My will
is your will.  Your only desire is to please me. It is not about you.
You don't matter.  I do.  Do you understand?

Yes, Sir, Ted gasped in pain as the incessant stabbing tail of pain
beat in his shoulder and threatened to take complete possession of
him.

I can stop the pain, Ted.  Do you want me to stop the pain?

Yes, Sir, Ted cried.  Please, Sir.  I do, Sir.

But I won't stop the pain. Not now. It feels even worse now, doesn't it?

Yes, Sir, it does.

Thank me for causing you pain.

Thank you for causing me pain, Sir.

And even while you are suffering from pain I am casually inflicting,
you still are my slave and must obey me and, in fact, long to please
me.  Is that not so, Ted?

Yes, Sir, Ted responded.

It pleases me that you are in pain.  It pleases me that my power is
that great over you, that I can dominate you so completely, to the
point of making you favor my desire over your own.  You know that is
true, that you have surrendered yourself to me. I want you to feel
this pain, Ted.  What do you want.

I ...want...to feel...this pain...Sir.

Ask me to make the pain stronger.

Please...Sir...make the pain stronger.

Ted writhed as his shoulder burned and stung as if a pincher were
clipping his nerves.

Are you angry with me for causing you pain?

Ted could not reply.

You must answer me, Ted.

I wish you wouldn't, Sir. I wish you would stop.

But I won't stop, Ted. Does that get you angry at me?

No, Sir.  I dare not be angry at you, Sir. I am afraid to be angry at
you, Sir. Whatever you wish, Sir, must be. He gasped as a spurt of
pain inside the pain jolted through his shoulder.

I want what you desire.

Do you desire your own pain, then, Ted?

Yes, Sir.

Say it.

I desire pain, Sir

Unbuckle your belt and take off your shoes and your trousers.

Ted obeyed.

Down on your knees.

Ted obeyed.

Mr. DaPonte made sure the conference room door was locked, removed his
suit jacket, his shirt and undershirt.

Look at me, he commanded.

Ted, still on his knees raised his head in obedience.

Mr. DaPonte approached. Take off the rest of my clothes.

Still on his knees, and though the pain in his shoulder made movement
intolerable, and the kneeling position strained his calves and thighs,
Ted obeyed, untying his shoe laces, undoing his belt, removing his
trousers.

His master stood naked before him, more powerful than ever he had
appeared in his power suits, tight, hard, solid, with muscles like
rocks. His cock was a bar of steel.

With great solemnity Ted took hold of it and put his lips around his
master's holy cock and despite the pain stomping in his shoulder, his
own cock, too, was rock and his throat pulsated like a cunt; he sucked
slowly, his eyes closed, lost in adoration.

Rub your own as you suck, Ted.  You will remain at the edge of
cumming, stay at the verge of cumming without being able to come but
only getting more frenzied.

Ted was writhing in a paroxysm of pain and pleasure, which gripped
each other so furiously that it became impossible to distinguish them
from each other.

He was pulsing with the energy of two cocks. There was his master's
cock in his mouth and his own cock, rigid, a blood-filled and
rich-veined branch straining with sap to bursting. The whiplash of
orgasm transported him to the glowing golden spiral nebulae and his
skin split him inside out

7

Afterwards he slowly became aware again of the intensity of his pain.

Mr. DaPonte stroked his head as if he were a prize borzoi.

You are beginning to notice that the intensity of pain is decreasing,
he said slowly.  The sensation of pain is blurring. The pain is gone.

And it was.

Ted knew that what he had feared had happened and he was thrilled and
terrified; he had been entirely enslaved, physically, sexually,
intellectually, and emotionally; he was to be defined entirely by this
bondage from now on, and his will lay entirely in submission; his
master's will was his own; it was that that had penetrated him; and
this bondage was liberation. The enormity of his master's power, the
force of his mastery, the immensity of his own devotion and the
irreversibility of his own surrender made him swoon. And he awoke in
front of his computer screen, fully dressed, back in his cubicle, to
the sensation of Mr. DaPonte kissing him on the mouth.

8

No, I'm not...I have a date...it's not a her.  His name is
Giovanni....You always knew it, mother....It's my life....I know
that's trite.  But it's also the way it is....Work's been going very
well. I got a promotion and a raise....Forty seven....I'm not sure. I
may be going away for the week with Giovanni....Don't put labels.  It
is what it is....Because when you define it you take it away from
me....Yes, you have. More than once....I'm not going to get into this
trap.  Anyhow I have to go....You know it is about time you grew up,
mother....Yes, yes. Good-bye.  Yes, I will.  I'll try to, but don't
pin me down.  Ciao.

9

Teddy looked out the window of Giovanni DaPonte's penthouse apartment
on Riverside Drive at the blazing sun dropping behind the Hudson
River. The evening air was cool and September brought with it a hint
of the oncoming autumn.  He wore a tight-fitting snow white
wife-beater over a chest Michelangelo would carve and a pair of tight
jeans through which, at the crotch, the outline of a proud cock alive
with its hunger could be seen.  He wore a small silver band through
his left ear lobe and a wide silver band around his neck. He was
barefoot and there was a silver ring on the first toe of his right
foot. His arms were long, tapered, and muscled.

Malcolm Farrell and Ben will be over in about twenty-five minutes,
Teddy, Giovanni called from the shower.  Got everything ready?

Yes, Sir, Teddy called back sharply, a soldier answering his commander.

When Teddy answered the door Malcolm Farrell gave him a greeting kiss
all the way to the back of his throat as he pinched his nipples and
finished him off with a slap on the rear.  Ben and Teddy looked shyly
at each other and gave each other delicate kisses on the cheeks,
secretly feeling the hardness of each other's chests. A powerful
unspoken bond had grown up between the two of them because they felt
an excitement for each other whenever they had met that they both knew
they were not free to express or even acknowledge unless it served
their masters' pleasure.

Malcolm was older than Giovanni, probably in his forties with a
dismissive and commanding attitude, a hypnotic voice of great
gentleness that suggested an iron will that no one would wish to defy.

Ben was his own age, in his early twenties, slightly taller than him
with green eyes and blonde hair.  He had a rugged athletic build and
moved with the grace of a panther.  He was dressed in the same uniform
as Teddy except for the black leather jacket that hung open and
motorcycle boots.

They sat on the terrace as the moon rose picking at canapés and
strudel, talking, drinking champagne from fluted crystal and smoking
marijuana from a tall, intricately wrought jade and copper hookah
Giovanni's father had brought back from Katmandu in the mid 1960s.

He was dodging the draft, Giovanni said.

A Conscientious Objector, Malcolm chuckled.

Actually, Giovanni said, it wasn't that formal.  He said he simply had
no taste for the army and that jail seemed even worse. Either way, he
said it was a crime against nature for a young man to go to war or to
jail when he was, according to him, directed by nature to be fucking,
traveling, meditating, and just being free to taste the whole world.

How did he make money, Joe?

He did a million things, carpentry, brick laying, waiting on tables, hustling.

He told you that?

That and a lot more.

And then his book.

Yup.  You see the fruit of it even in this penthouse, and that's where
the start up capital for Universal Information Systems came from.  He
knew how to touch a nerve.

Did he practice?

Hypnosis?

Yeah.

He didn't need to.

He believed in love instead.

You're right, he did.

Those were funny times.  People tried to deny that love is about
power. They tried to think of them as two separate things.  They're
not.  Love is the response people have to power.

Giovanni smiled as if he knew better but wasn't interested in pushing a point.

What about our business, Mal?

It's all done, Joey. He's yours. Malcolm Farrell snapped his fingers
and Ben stood to attention.

Ben, as you are mine I can do with you as I wish.  I am giving you to
Mr. DaPonte.  He is your master now.  He owns you and you are his
slave and you will serve him exclusively.  As a sign of which, we
perform this enslavement ceremony.  Take off your jacket.

The boy removed his jacket and revealed a well muscled physique, a
carved chest, stiff nipples pressing against the cotton of the wife
beater that clung to him. It was cut short and exposed the rippled
muscles of his abdomen.

Take off your shirt, Ben.

Slowly the boy pulled it over his head.

Teddy watched in awe, wishing he were Ben and wishing also to run his
tongue along Ben's torso and flick it over his hard nipples, press his
own against Ben's magnificent chest and lock his mouth upon his until
their breaths became one and indistinguishable.

Ben stood at attention, stripped to the waist. Then Giovanni inserted
a silver ring into his already pierced left nipple, just like the one
Teddy had, and gently brought Ben's lips to his and with a long and
gentle kiss made the boy swoon in his arms.  He backed him away and
said, Now you are my slave to do with as I wish.  I own you.

Ben bowed his head and lifted it.  Yes, Master, he said.

Turning to Teddy then, he said, indicating the jade threaded titanium
ring, Give me
the ring.

Knowing something terrible was happening, but with no will to resist,
Ted removed the ring from his finger and handed it to his master with
a dip of obeisance.

Handing it back to Teddy, Giovanni DaPonte said, Now put it on Ben's
finger and bow to him.

After he had done so, his master addressed him again with a coldness
that was unfamiliar to him, You will sleep in the maid's room.

Teddy felt an icy metal bar turning in his gut.

What are you waiting for? his master said.

Am I...have I...? he stammered.

Since when, his master cut him off, do you discuss an order? Time is
running out, mister. And without saying another word, he pointed to
the steps.

Like a whipped cur, Teddy turned and left the room and slowly -- with
each step wishing to turn back and beg for something he couldn't find
the words to say -- he climbed the stairs until he came to the tiny
servant's room with the iron bedstead and the small dormer window that
looked out onto the dirty brick walls of a narrow air shaft.  His
cock, despite the constraint of his jeans, was as hard as concrete,
and as insensate. His eyes were open, dazed, glazed, immobile,
uncomprehending.

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[When you write me, please put the story name in the subject slot. Thanks]