Date: Sun, 27 Oct 2002 20:13:09 -0500
From: istari <istari@blazenet.net>
Subject: Mastering Alex 24

The following story describes the evolving relationship
between and man and a thirteen-year-old boy. It is the story
of a safe, loving, consensual, dominant/submissive
relationship and does contain scenes of bondage, sado
masochism, etc. If that sort of thing makes you
uncomfortable, please stop reading. This story is utter
fiction, the product perhaps of my own childhood fantasies,
and nothing more.

Well, here it is folks, the first part of Alex' adventure at
the long-awaited party. Hope it meets everyone's
expectations!

Comments are welcome at istari_olias@hotmail.com


Mastering Alex

Chapter 24: The Life of the Party

     The psychology of a slave is an amazing and complicated
thing. It was such a simple act, shaving off those few soft
hairs above Alexander's penis, yet its impact was profound.
The boy was subdued and serious for the rest of the night,
doing whatever he was told with a quick nod of his head, and
a focused yet faraway expression in his eyes. Alex was still
not permitted to speak, and so he did everything
soundlessly.
     Over the past few weeks I had become aware of a basic
truth about my boy. The tougher I made things for him, the
crueler and harder my treatment of him, the stronger he
embraced it and the deeper was his submission. Things were
escalating between us. We could both feel it.
     In bed that night, I allowed Alex ten minutes to talk
about the day and how the things we'd done and said to him
had made him feel. A full day of pent up emotions and
frustrations and madness just spilled forth.
     "I messed up a lot today, didn't I?" he asked as he sat
naked between my legs, my arms wrapped tenderly around his
chest.
     "Yes, you did," I replied. "But you were punished for
it each time. I will never hold things over you, Alex. You
mess up, you get punished, we move on. Got it?"
     "Yes, sir."
     "Besides these were tough lessons today."
     "Sure were. You know, I can't stop thinking about
tomorrow . . . that's going to be hard, isn't it?"
     "For you, yes. I plan on having a great time."
     He shivered and moved closer. I pushed him away gently
and onto his back. Freed of his belt, his cock, once again
hairless, was sticking straight up, but he would not be
cumming tonight.
     "Spread your legs, Alex," I commanded.
     With a soft voice he responded. "Yes, master."
     "Roll over."
     He did with a quiet, "Yes, sir."
     "That's my boy."
     I gave him a gentle spanking, just to re-light the fire
of the paddle and cane from earlier. Then I entered him
roughly, leaving him moaning and gasping into his pillow.

     Michael woke us gently the next morning. He was already
dressed in his travel outfit, jeans and a short-sleeved
pullover, white runners on his feet. Collar and cuffs were
in plain view, and beneath his clothes I knew he was bound
and locked in chastity. He smiled at Alex and his bright
blue eyes betrayed his excitement about the days ahead.
     Normally energetic in the mornings, Alex seemed
sluggish and wary. We showered together. He met my eyes with
a shy and gentle expression, then bowed his head again and
pressed himself against me. I rubbed my hands over his
trembling shoulders and down the center of his back. The
boy's penis was hard and he was gasping softly. I knew he
desperately wanted me touch him. I kissed him on the
forehead and turned off the water.
     "Don't dry yourself. Stand there until your erection is
gone, then come into the bedroom."
      I left Alex there in the tub, hard and horny and
shivering. He appeared a few minutes later, his soft five
inches swinging between his beautiful slender thighs as he
walked toward me.
     After letting him drip dry for a few minutes, I stood
the boy in front of me and put him in his gear. Michael had
delivered a new butt-plug courtesy his master, a much larger
and thicker one than I'd used on Alex before. It took some
grunting and groaning to work it up inside him. There was no
way it could ever come out on its own. His leather jock went
on next and then, of course, the pod. Alex seemed to be
miles away already.
     "Nervous?" I asked as I tightened his harness around
his chest.
     "Yes, sir."
     "I am too. Hand me your cuffs."
     Alex placed the ankle cuffs in my hands and I slowly
and lovingly buckled them in place, running my hands up and
down the boy's firm hairless legs, feeling the well packed
muscles in his calves. We hadn't used the padlocks in a
while, but for today it seemed appropriate, and I clicked
them in place. We both liked the idea that the cuffs could
not come off. His wrists received the same treatment. The
boy presented his collar to me next, then knelt to receive
it around his neck.
     With one last click of a padlock it was done.
     "Shirt and shorts," I ordered. "Then get your shoes on.
No socks."
     Alex dressed quickly, his hands shaking in nervous
excitement.
     "Take your time, sweetie," I said gently. "They won't
leave without us."
     My boy smiled and relaxed a little. When he was
finished, he presented himself to me. I straightened his
shirt and raised his shorts a little higher on his hips,
revealing more of his sexy thirteen-year-old legs. His hair
was just getting long enough to need brushing again, and so
he did that with me looking on. I tossed him the gel and he
quickly got it the way he liked.
     "Do I look alright?" he asked, examining himself in the
full-length mirror.
     "Adorable. And very grown up."
     Alex beamed. What boy doesn't like to heart that
particular compliment? "Really?"
     "Really."
     "Can I have a hug, before we go?"
     "You can always have a hug, Alex. Come here."
     I drew him into my arms and we embraced. In that moment
it struck me just how small and slender and fragile he was.
Yes, he was strong and athletic, but he was still a boy. It
would be so easy to really and truly hurt him, and there
would be nothing he could do about it. Alex didn't have the
strength to resist.
     He must have sensed the dark cloud that suddenly came
between us. He pulled back for a moment and stared at me.
     "What's wrong?" he asked in a whisper.
     "Nothing, Alex." I took his hands into my own. "Go get
your gag, then we'll see about breakfast."

     Robert had a large feast prepared in the kitchen, but
not for all of us. For himself and for me it was fruit and
bread, juice and coffee. For Michael and Alex it was
pancakes and eggs and bacon, milk and juice.
     "This will be the last real meal they eat for a while,"
our host explained as we allowed the boys to sit down with
us at the table. "And as for you and I, we'll be quite
stuffed before things wind down, so go light this morning."
     Anxious and nervous, Alex at first picked at his food,
but Michael tapped him on the arm and gave him a warm smile.
     "Better eat all you can," he said in his soft but
confident voice. "We'll need it."
     With the older boy's example and encouragement, Alex
dug in with renewed enthusiasm, drowning his large stack of
cakes with strawberry syrup and swallowing his juice in
large gulps. He was the only one without a coffee cup.
Robert took one from the counter and set it in front of him.
     "Want to drink like the grown-ups this morning, son?"
he asked.
     Alex looked at me with a smile. He'd had a few sips of
coffee before, and I often put a little in his milk for him,
but this was the real thing, strong and black and filling
the kitchen with its nutty aroma. With my tacit approval he
flipped the cup upright and Robert filled it to the rim. We
all laughed when he wrinkled his nose at the first taste and
forced it down his throat.
     "When I think of all the other things he's had in his
mouth lately . . ."
     My boy glared at me playfully and joined us in our
laughter. It felt good. And he did finish the entire cup,
respectfully declining seconds.

     Robert's garage was a source of wonder for Alex. Home
to six of the shiniest most beautiful vehicles he'd ever
laid his young eyes upon. There was a late model Jaguar, a
vintage Mercedes, and several more modest but equally
stylish cars all neatly parked in their bays. Our transport
for this adventure however awaited us at the far end, an
immaculately maintained black cargo van, likely a Dodge at
some point, though it had been customized to such a degree
that it had little in common with anything you'd find on the
showroom floor.
     "Let's get the boy's inside," Robert said as he
unlocked the back doors.
     Alex and I looked in together. Definitely not factory
standard!
     Thick rubber matting covered the floor and walls, and
there were rings and hooks and chains dangling everywhere.
There was a small iron cage and a restraining chair similar
to those that lived in Robert's dungeon. Both pieces were
secured to the floor with heavy braces and bolts.
     Robert and I instantly came to an unspoken agreement,
and he opened the cage door while I helped Alex climb up
into the van. With my boy on his hands and knees, I worked
his shorts off his slender frame, then his shirt. Only his
shoes and leather remained.
     "Get in there, Alex," I said softly, after I'd buckled
the ball-gag in place.
     Alex blinked once and crawled into the cage. He went in
headfirst and quickly discovered there was no room inside
for him to turn around, or sit or stretch. He would be on
his hands and knees for the entire trip. I locked his wrist
and ankle cuffs to the iron bars and Robert slowly closed
the door. Alex actually jumped a little when he heard the
heavy latch and the ratcheting click of the big lock.
     Next Michael was placed in the chair and strapped down
from toe to forehead. His fingers were about the only thing
he could move. He was not gagged, and Robert turned the
chair so he was looking directly at my boy in the cage.
     "Keep an eye on Alex," Robert instructed him. "If it
looks like he's in trouble, tell us right away. You may talk
to him, but keep your voice down."
     "Yes, sir."
     Robert tightened the young man's straps a little more,
causing Michael to moan softly under his breath. Together we
then knelt down in front of Alex. The caged boy wiggled his
shoulders a bit, then his hips, pressing them against the
bars. I could tell by the look on his young face that Alex
was zoning out again, as he often seemed to do. Robert
snapped his fingers and clapped his hands. Alex focused his
hazel eyes on us instantly.
      "You're going to have a rough ride, kid," Robert said
without exaggeration. "I'll take it slow, but you're going
to have a few bruises by the time we get there. Keep your
arms locked or else you'll knock your head against the bars.
Don't want you blacking out now, do we?"
     Alex shook his head and blinked his eyes twice. I
worked my right hand between the bars and gently caressed
his cheek. I gave him a little slap. "Mike will be watching
you, don't worry. Just do what Robert says."
     The boy straightened his shoulders and locked his
elbows, then put his head down.
     Robert and I stepped out and closed the rear doors.
Moments later we were off. There was a dark curtain that
separated the cabin from the cargo area. The silence from
behind the curtain was strange. I knew my wonderful boy was
back there, and I had to fight the urge to draw back the
dark blue fabric and check on him.
     "Let him be for a while," Robert said as we left the
driveway. "Mike will tell us if anything goes wrong."
     I turned back in my chair and watched the miles go by.
For obvious reasons, Robert avoided the interstates and
other heavily trafficked roads, instead winding us up and
down and around the countryside lanes, always taking us
generally north. Occasionally he would hit an unavoidable
bump or pothole, which was immediately followed by a loud
yelp or moan of protest from young Alex as he was smashed
against the bars of the cage.
     "You're not hitting those on purpose, are you?" I asked
wickedly.
     "Now why would I ever do a thing like that?" he replied
with a knowing smirk upon his bearded lips.
     We'd been on the road for about ninety minutes, when
Robert pulled off onto a wooded drive. I'd thought his own
private estate was a realm of opulence, but the elaborate
mansion that loomed before us was simply breathtaking.
     "I'm in the wrong business, Rob," I said with a laugh.
     "No need to feel that way, Steven. You and Alex are my
guests, and you'll both fit in nicely, I'm sure. Remember,
if you're comfortable, Alex will be comfortable."
     I took that to heart as I surveyed the large number of
vehicles already parked along the edges of the circular
driveway. There were custom models like Robert's, expensive
luxury cars of all makes, sport vehicles, vans and pick-ups,
some extraordinary, some deceptively plain. Clearly the
party had already begun.
     "I'm never the first to arrive, nor the last to leave,"
Robert explained. "I confess I do have some standing among
these people, and a timely entrance is important. Good
turnout today."
     I could hear the soft distant sounds of a string
quartet playing as we opened the rear doors of the van. Alex
was leaning to one side of the cage and breathing heavily.
The last hundred yards down the driveway had been
particularly rough on him. Robert handed me the key and I
worked the heavy lock open. The door swung on its hinges
with a soft well-oiled creak.
     "Don't move, boy," I said. I released his ankle and
wrist cuffs, then reached into the cage and put my hands
firmly around his hips. Slowly I backed Alex out of the
cage. He did have the beginnings of a few bruises on his
shoulders, but nothing serious. They'd just give him a
little extra character. Having worn the ball-gag for so
long, a trail of drool and spittle ran from his mouth and
down onto the floor of the van. Alex looked at me with
embarrassed eyes, but I knew he couldn't help it. I patted
him on the head and Robert handed me a cloth before
proceeding to release Michael. I wiped my boy down gently,
and dried the outside of the gag.
     "Stretch," I ordered as the boy stood on two feet for
the first time in nearly two hours. Alex dutifully twisted
and turned his narrow hips, and raised his arms above his
head. He did a few toe touches, which made him look quite
adorable with his cute little ass in the air. I gave that
perfect target a few playful smacks.
     "Save a bit for later, Steven," Robert laughed as he
helped Michael out of the van. The older slave went through
a similar but far more efficient and practiced round of
stretches, his lean eighteen-year-old body already
glistening with sweat. When the young man had finished, he
bent over to remove his shoes.
     I gave Alex a firm tug on his harness. "Help Michael
get those off."
     Robert nodded his approval, and young Alex quickly
kneeled before his senior slave and untied the well-worn
tennis shoes, removing them with great care, taking a moment
to caress Michael's bare feet. The boy was reluctant to
finish his task, but he did, then got up and placed the
shoes neatly in the van.
     With a silent command from his master, Michael
reciprocated. He was exceedingly gentle, and looked up at
Alex with a warm smile the entire time as he removed the
boy's runners. Alex soon had that faraway look in his eyes
again and a soft sigh escaped his throat. I curled a finger
around the nearest ring in his collar and pulled him sharply
back to reality. The boy blushed and gave me a contrite and
embarrassed look.
     "Stay focused, Alex," I warned him. "And stay close."
He nodded his head. I kissed him on the cheek and we were
ready. No lead for his collar. We'd discussed that before
falling asleep in each other's arms the previous night. It
was important to him that he prove he didn't need one. It
was also a bit of a risk, but Alex is no fool, and he knows
how to keep his eyes and ears open.
     We followed Robert and Michael to the front door. Alex
was at my right side, a half-step behind. I could feel his
hand brushing against mine, and I could hear his anxious
breathing.
     Robert rang the bell, and the large door was quickly
opened by a handsome teenaged boy with dark hair and deep
brown eyes. The lad appeared to be a few years younger than
Michael was, perhaps sixteen. Tall and slender, he wore a
formal bow tie around his neck and a black coat with tails.
And nothing else. His soft cock, thick and impressive,
dangled between firm sinewy adolescent legs. His bare feet
were large and gave him an adorably awkward look. The youth
was well tanned, and he had a single golden ring in each
ear. It was obvious from his expression that he recognized
Robert immediately.
     "Good afternoon, Thomas. You're looking well. A few
inches taller, and longer I see."
     The attractive teenager blushed. "Thank you, sir."
     "Where is your master?" Robert asked, looking the boy
up and down with his piercing gray eyes.
     "In the garden, sir. He has been expecting you."
     Thomas stepped to one side and gestured us into the
house. His brown eyes were locked on Alex as the thirteen-
year-old followed close behind me. It was the first of many
stares young Alex would be receiving as the afternoon wore
on.
     The garden was reached through a door at the opposite
end of the large well-appointed Georgian hall. We stepped
out into a world of manicured terraces, fine sculpture,
flowing fountains and soft music. Alex squeezed my hand
gently, and together we shook our heads in amazement. One
might have thought we'd stepped back into a more genteel
past, but the presence of scores of young men and boys in
leather, chains, or nothing at all quickly brought us back
to our curious new reality.
     Robert had told me weeks earlier that Alex, while the
newest, would not be the youngest boy here, and he was
correct. While youngsters were and are certainly rare in our
little circle, a leisurely glance revealed numerous boys
smaller and younger than my Alex, and at least one who
appeared to be no more than eight or nine years old. Out of
the corner of my eye I saw a quick flash of dark red, and
there of course was Sebastian, standing at firm attention
beside his master.
     Samuel Collins was engaged in some polite debate with
another gentleman in a rather expensive suit. The doctor
himself was dressed casually, preferring to allow his young
nephew the honor of attracting all the attention. And that
he did, remarkably well. Sebastian was covered in a tight
reddish-hued leather bodysuit that nearly matched the color
of his hair. His hands were encased in leather mittens and
his slender arms bound tightly to his sides by straps built
into the suit. The boy's feet were bare, as they always
seemed to be. He was not gagged, but it was clear from his
rigid posture that he was under strict orders not to speak
or respond in any way to anything said or done to him.
     That was of course until he saw Alex. Then his
intelligent young eyes lit up and he risked a little smile
in our direction. Samuel caught him instantly, and after
offering us a friendly gesture, he promptly gave the boy a
hard smack on his little round rump to help him regain his
focus.
     "Come on, Alex," I said as I gave my boy a little swat
of his own.
     We hurried along to catch up to Robert, and soon found
ourselves under a large pavilion where masters and slaves
were mingling informally, and where food, and drink and
music were found in abundance. Alex continued to be the
object of long stares as we followed Robert through the
lively crowd. Some stares were wicked and lustful, some
hopelessly smitten by the thirteen-year-old's youthful yet
masculine beauty, and most were simply appreciative of a
young boy bravely entering a grown-up world for the first
time and doing his very best to prove he belonged. I knew
Alex could feel their admiration, and I could sense him
standing a little taller as he walked close behind me.
     A well-dressed middle-aged gentleman rose from a
comfortable couch to greet us and took Robert's hand first.
It was immediately clear that their association had been a
long and fruitful one.
     "So good to see you, Robert," he said in a thick but
cultured voice. "Sorry you had to miss my last little
soiree. It just wasn't the same without you, or Michael."
     The young slave gave one of his trademark bows. Robert
then introduced me to our host, using only his first name,
as was the custom. Wim. Unusual and distinctive, and fitting
for one who lived in such conspicuous luxury.
     "No introduction necessary," he said and presented his
hand to me. "Thomas and I are both fans of your writing."
     I nodded in sincere gratitude, unaware I was known in
such wealthy and influential circles.
     "Robert tells me we should be expecting a novel from
you shortly."
     "If I can ever manage to finish it," I said, glancing
at my little brother. "I've been rather distracted lately."
     Wim's eyes fell on Alexander, and a warm smile crossed
his face. He looked the bound, gagged, and belted boy up and
down. Alex blushed, but stood straight and motionless by my
side. "No wonder you can't concentrate. This must be Alex."
     "He keeps my life interesting, that's certain," I
replied, caressing the boy gently between his shoulders, and
pushing him forward slightly so Wim could get a better look.
"Stand," I said firmly.
     Young Alex was in position instantly, his slim muscular
legs spread wide, his hands clasped behind his head, his
hazel eyes forward meeting those of our host.
     "Very nice," Wim said after a soft whistle of
admiration. He extended his hands, the tips of his fingers
hovering just inches from the boy's smooth flesh. "May I?"
     I could hear Alex take a sharp breath. "By all means,"
I replied.
     Alex shuddered as the stranger's hands lightly and
gently worked over his slender frame, dancing playfully over
his bare skin. Wim pulled Alex yet closer and ran his
fingers up and down the thirteen-year-old's back, pausing
often to squeeze the boy's firm behind. Alex still had his
hands behind his head. Wim found the end of the boy's butt-
plug, held tightly in place by the thin leather strap. He
gave it a quick tug.
     "Got a nice little ass on you, boy," I heard him say.
"I'll bet you just love getting it fucked."
     Alex whimpered into his gag and his body stiffened as
Wim moved his exploring hands over the boy's thighs and up
between his legs, jiggling the metal pod that encased his
genitals.
     "Does he wear this often?" our wealthy host asked.
     "Most of the time," I replied. Alex nodded his head and
sighed quietly.
     "And how old is he?"
     "He turned thirteen less than a month ago."
     Wim continued his examination. "Spread your legs a
little farther, boy," he said.
     Remembering the rules, Alex craned his head back and
looked at me. His eyes were soft and pleading. In answer I
reached out and smacked him twice on the ass. "Do as you are
told, Lexi."
     The boy spread his feet as far as he could without
losing his balance. Wim again ran his hands over the kid's
thighs, now taut and straining, before returning his
attentions to the chastity belt and the seed pod. He let it
rest in his palm.
     "Hmm. There's already some weight inside," he said
appreciatively, then looked over Alex' shoulder at me. "He
must be hung like a horse."
     "Well, at least a pony," I replied with a smile. Alex
let out a soft giggle. I figured he needed something to
lighten the mood, even if just for a moment.
     Wim patted him on the thigh and sent him back to me.
Alex immediately resumed his place at my side, and I felt
the back of his hand softly touching mine. Once. Twice.
Three times. Quietly I took it and he squeezed tightly. Alex
let out a long-held breath. I turned to look at him and saw
my boy's eyes were fixed on the ground, his chin nearly down
upon his chest. My Alex was scared. I reached over and
gently lifted his chin.
     "Keep your head up," I said softly, but sternly. Then I
took his hand again.
     "You have a fine boy, Steven," our host continued. "I
do hope we'll be seeing more of him later today. Make
yourself at home. We have organized a little game of soccer
for the youngsters. We'll be starting this afternoon on the
south lawn. Alex is welcome to play. With legs like those .
. . " Wim trailed off into a tender smile. "And of course we
often choose a little one for our evening hunt. Perhaps Alex
would like to be the quarry today."
     Beside me, Alex jumped and shivered.
     "Ah, he's already trembling," Wim observed good-
naturedly. "He'll make fine prey."
     The idea of a naked Alex being chased through the woods
was rather appealing, and I promised Wim I'd consider it. We
paid our respects then followed Robert and Michael a little
further along through the terraced gardens, gaining
introductions to many of his most valued associates,
clients, and friends. There were, to my amazement, a few
familiar faces among those gathered, people I'd seen on the
news, people in power.
     At first, I confess, Alex and I felt like poor cousins.
And yet, everyone seemed to go out of their way to mingle in
our direction and make us feel welcome. Some masters offered
their hand to Alex, while others patted him warmly on the
behind. I'd removed his gag, but he was still not permitted
to speak. Several people tried their best to catch him off
guard, but not once did my clever boy ever open his mouth. I
was so proud of him. I actually hugged him, right there in
front of everyone.
     My eyes caught a few more boys I hadn't noticed before.
None were so elaborately clad as Sebastian was in his neck-
to-ankle leather bodysuit, and one teenaged lad was crawling
naked on his hands and knees behind his master, leashed to
the man's wrist. Finally I turned to Robert with the obvious
question.
     "How many boys are there? Real ones, I mean."
     Robert's eyes danced and he flashed a wicked grin.
"Enjoying the sights, are you? Well, I will tell you. At the
moment there are eight we know of, including young Alex,
that the law would consider minors, but several of them are
among the most experienced slaves here. And many of the
young men you see first came to gatherings like this as
children. You are not the only one here with an attraction
to boys, but you will learn that our chosen lifestyle often
transcends age."
     I nodded that I understood, and squeezed Alexander's
hand a little more tightly as we walked.
     "We do take great care with the young ones," Robert
continued. His expression quickly darkened, and spoke to me
softly so Alex wouldn't hear his equally dark words. "The
ones we know about at least. People always assume when a boy
disappears and never returns that he's been murdered. I
suspect, and have seen some evidence that suggests
otherwise. I have my theories, but proving them would
endanger far too many lives."
     I shivered at the mere thought of what Robert was
implying. He quickly changed the subject.
     "Enough of this. There is much for you to see, and much
for Alex to learn. Michael and I have our own engagements to
attend to. I trust, young man," he said, addressing Alex
directly, "that you will keep yourself and your master out
of trouble?"
     Alex smiled and nodded his head, and with that Rob and
Mike walked off leaving us alone in a crowd of strangers.
His last words to me were delivered with a wink and a wicked
smile. "You'll find some activities in the carriage house to
keep the boy occupied."

     And indeed we did, once we were pointed in the right
direction. The carriage house, an old brick structure that
I'm sure normally housed our host's exceptional collection
of vehicles, had a different kind of machinery in it today.
Crosses and frames and stocks and even a frightful medieval
rack filled the many bays. Ten slaves were strapped and
bound to them in every imaginable position, with their
masters all looking on as they were methodically tortured by
yet others. Whimpers and cries filled the air. It was a
strangely musical and arousing sound. Another handful of
slaves lined the back wall, chained to one another and to
large rings in the floor. Unoccupied masters mingled and
talked freely, awaiting the next round of activities.
     Alex and I hovered near the door, captivated by what we
were witnessing, and apparently unnoticed, for the moment. A
thirteen-year-old slave does draw attention to himself
though, without even trying. Before long a kind-faced and
elderly master approached us and held out his hand to me.
The grip was surprisingly firm and virile.
     "Master Steven . . . and Alex, correct?" he asked
softly. His voice betrayed years and years of smoking.
     I nodded with rather dubious eyes.
     "No need for suspicion. It is to our advantage to stay
informed of new members, and particularly when a boy joins
our little family. How are you today, Alex?"
     I hadn't even learned this man's name yet, but somehow
I trusted him, and, given his age, it also seemed only
appropriate that Alex answer him directly, and politely. I
gave my boy a gentle nudge and he promptly offered one of
his flourishing bows. It had the same effect it always did
on Robert, mainly a delighted smile and a soft chuckle from
its recipient.
     "I'm fine, sir," Alex then said, standing up again.
"Thank you for asking."
     "You are surprised that I would? A slave's feelings are
important too, aren't they?"
     "I guess so," my sweet boy replied quietly.
     "You guess? A slave must not guess, boy."
     "I mean, yes, sir," Alex stammered, quickly and deftly
correcting himself. "They are important."
     "I'm pleased you think so." The old gentleman, for
that's what he was, smiled warmly at us. "I am Bartholomew .
. . but you, young man," he pointed a playful finger at
Alex, "will only ever call me sir. Clear?"
     Alex stood up straight as an arrow. "Yes, sir!" he said
strongly, then returned his elder's smile.
     "He's adorable," Bartholomew said, patting the five-
foot-tall boy on the top of his head.  He turned his soft
experienced eyes to me. "I've been training slaves since
before either of you were born, Steven, but this boy is
special. I know them when I see them."
     I couldn't find any argument with that.
     "Care to put the little colt through his paces?" he
asked.
     Alex instinctively moved closer to me. Gazing down at
him, there was that look of fear and desire in his eyes. I
did not hesitate. "Absolutely."
     "Do you have a preference?" Bartholomew asked as we
scanned the room together, observing older and more
experienced slaves enduring unbelievable tortures.
     Finally I left it up to Alex to make the decision.
Together we walked up and down the line of increasingly
harsh devices. The rack in particular held the boy's
fascination. A fit and muscular young man in his early
twenties was it's current occupant. He was moaning softly
into a heavy leather gag, and rolling his head from side to
side. His back was arched, his lean hairless torso heaving
with gaping breaths. The anguished look in his eyes forced
Alex closer to me. The stretch in the young man's joints was
a sight to behold. One more turn I'm sure and tendons would
begin to snap.
     Alex gave me that `no way' look all thirteen-year-old's
have mastered. Something in his expression told me that one
day soon he'd do it, even ask for it, but not today. We
moved on, my hands now gently resting on his shoulders. At
our next stop, an older teen, perhaps Michael's age, was
hanging with from his wrists and ankles. They were bound
together behind him. Enormous leaden weights hung from his
balls, and yet more from his nipples, pulling his most
sensitive parts downward with ruthless and relentless force.
The youth's head hung down in exhaustion so we could not see
his face, but we could both hear his quiet sobs. Up and down
this row of suffering and torment, things seemed to have
come to a stop for a moment, but everything was set up so
that the slaves remained on display the entire time.
     "Guess everyone's gonna be watching me, huh?" Alex
asked softly as we stood before a wooden bondage frame, it's
current occupant suspended by his ankles. It was clear from
his quiet moans and ample tears that the young man was being
allowed to rest before he was taken down and replaced by
another.
     "That's the idea, Lexi."
     The boy fidgeted nervously, but his eyes were carefully
digesting everything around him. I knew this was a difficult
moment for him. Up until now, everything we'd done had been
in the familiar confines of home, or in the safe environment
provided by Robert's dungeon. Alex had always been among
those who loved him. Warmth and compassion surrounded him,
even as he suffered. This was very different. Cold and
detached, the calculated infliction of pain for pain's sake,
as total strangers looked on.
     I did not push him, but I did not let him quit and walk
away. If this was the life he wanted, he would need to learn
the darker truths about it. Finally he stood up as tall as
he could and stepped a bit closer the frame nearest to us,
the one with the young man still hanging by his ankles.
     "This one," Alex said with boyish conviction. "Just
like this. Upside-down and everything. Whip me good!"
     Bartholomew smiled widely and laid a friendly hand on
my boy's shoulder. "So eager. I like that. We'll see how you
feel about things when I'm through with you." His voice was
suddenly chilling, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of a
fierce and stern-faced master. Alex eyed me with giddy
terror. Robert had told me we would meet true sadists here,
masters of their craft who would teach Alex about the depths
of pain. Something in that kindly old man's expression told
me my young charge was in for a very rough time.
      "Would you remove his belt, please?" Bartholomew
asked, as Alex trembled between us.
     Pulling the keys from my pocket, I opened the padlocks
and slowly removed the metal pod and leather jock, leaving
them close by. His butt-plug remained. Alex sighed deeply as
his boyhood was freed from its unforgiving constraints.
Driven by fear and anticipation, and the large audience that
was quietly assembling to watch him, the boy got hard
instantly.
     "Ah, the little man's excited. How sweet," Bartholomew
said. "I'd like to keep him that way for a while, if you
don't mind."
     "By all means."
     A thick leather strap was quickly and roughly tied
around the boy's cock and balls, then looped again and again
around the base of his throbbing young erection. Alex
actually groaned when the knot was pulled taut. Already his
penis was a dark red, and slowly turning purple. Tied off
and separated, his balls were also taking on a colorful hue.
     "Turn around, Alex," Bartholomew said. I noticed he
almost always used the boy's name. A sign of respect he'd
later tell me.
     Alex did what he was told and presented his backside to
the elderly master. His wrist cuffs were quickly locked
together and a series of well-used leather straps were
cinched tightly around his arms until his elbows were nearly
touching. I could see the strain in his shoulders, as well
as the painful grimace upon his sweet innocent face.
     "Now sit down. Ask your master for help, if you need
it."
     With his arms bound and useless behind him, he did need
help. I got him onto the floor, and he sat silent and
shaking with his beautiful legs stretched in front of him.
Bartholomew knotted thick heavy ropes through the rings in
the boy's ankle cuffs then began to circle them around,
distributing the pressure evenly. Alex was staring up with
dancing eyes at the pulley system to which the ropes were
already attached. His cock was so hard I thought it would
burst.
     After making a final check of the ropes for safety,
Bartholomew knelt down beside Alex and gestured me to do the
same. Once again his eyes and voice were those of a kindly
grandfather, but I know they would not remain so for long.
     "Listen to me very carefully, Alex," he said. "And keep
your eyes forward. I want you to answer some questions for
me. I will not repeat myself."
     "Yes, sir."
     "When was the last time you came?"
     "Yesterday morning, sir."
     "Do you need your master's permission to cum?"
     Alex looked at me for an instant. "Yes, sir, I do."
     He received a gentle smack for disobeying. "Eyes
forward."
     "Sorry, sir."
     Bartholomew continued. "Have you been whipped before?"
     "Yes, sir. Often. By my master."
     "But never by someone who doesn't love you."
     Alex shuddered. His answer was honest, and painful.
"Yes, sir," he said with a trembling voice. "That's happened
to me too. When I was very little."
     Our newest friend seemed to melt when he heard that,
but he gathered his emotions quickly. "This will be very
hard for you. Do you have a safeword?"
     The boy nodded and took a deep breath. "Yes, sir."
     "Tell me."
     "Butterfly, sir."
     A gentle hand caressed Alex' shoulder. "It suits you.
Did you choose it yourself?"
     "Yes, sir, I did."
     "Use it if you have to. There is no shame. I am going
to hurt you very badly, you know that."
     "I do, sir."
     My sweet brave boy closed his eyes for a moment. "May I
ask a question, sir?"
     "Of course, Alex."
     "Where will my master be, when it's happening?"
     "Where would you like him to be?"
     "Close, sir."
     "I understand," Bartholomew said tenderly. "You need
his touch, don't you?"
     Alex nodded. It was beyond words.
     "Let's get you into position."
     All the boy could manage was a soft whimper of
agreement. Immediately Bartholomew began to methodically
pull on the ropes until there was a noticeable tug against
Alex' feet. He stopped and double-checked everything, the
ropes, the frame, at last making sure the boy's leather
cuffs were snug and would not be digging in to his skin too
harshly.
     "Hold his shoulders, lift him gently," Bartholomew told
me as he continued to take the slack out of the ropes. Alex'
legs were already being raised off the floor. My boy sighed
when he felt my hands, and he put his head back so he could
look at me as I bent over to support him. He gave me a
little smile to let me know it was all right.
     The pulleys began to squeak as the ropes took more and
more of the boy's diminutive weight. Soon I could feel Alex
leaving the ground. His cute little rear end was in the air
now. I was holding him tightly and lifting him slowly as the
pulleys took him up. He wiggled a bit in my gentle grip, but
with his arms trussed tightly behind him, he was quite
helpless.
     And then, after several slow minutes of starts and
stops, Bartholomew gave one last hard pull, which
straightened the boy's lean body and took his breath away.
"Let him go," he said.
     I did. And Alex swung free by his ankles.