Date: Thu, 14 Nov 2002 19:48:39 -0500
From: istari <istari@blazenet.net>
Subject: Mastering Alex 25

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, sadomasochism, 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.

When we last left our hero, he was just hanging around,
literally. Alex' adventure at the party now continues.

Thanks to all of Alexander's loyal readers who've stuck with me
as the story evolves. Your comments, criticisms, and suggestions
are always well received.  Enjoy!

Comments are welcome at istari_olias@hotmail.com


Mastering Alex

Chapter 25: Suffering Artist

     At first Alex just hung there, his head nearly twelve inches
above the floor, but soon he began to writhe about, struggling to
get his arms free, little cries issuing from his throat and a
priceless look of fear in his young eyes.
     "Calm down, Alex," Bartholomew said gently, running his
hands over the boy's right leg. I did the same for his left.
"You're perfectly secure. Don't be afraid."
     Alex closed his eyes tightly. I put my hands on either side
of his narrow hips and gave him a little push, watching him swing
back and forth like a piece of meat on a hook. Several minutes
were allowed to pass in this fashion, and then, at Bartholomew's
instruction, I released the boy's arms and lowered them slowly.
Alex' fingertips just barely grazed the floor. If you listened
carefully enough, you could just hear them scraping. Finally I
removed the harness, exposing his chest and back.
     "Just one more thing," Bartholomew said, "and we'll be
ready."
     `One more thing' was a wooden yoke, square and hinged and
about two feet long on every side with a sizeable hole for the
neck.
     "An antique from China," Bartholomew explained. "I'm quite
proud of it." He opened it by its single ornate hinge and fitted
it carefully around Alexander's slender neck. "Don't panic," he
told him soothingly, as Alex tensed and struggled once more. "It
has some weight to it, but it won't choke you. Just as with your
master, you will always be safe with me."
     Bartholomew clicked the lock in place on the opposite side,
and Alex was now yoked. Aside from its obvious humiliating
affect, it would also prevent him from moving his head or looking
up to see what was happening to him. Alex could only gaze
straight ahead at the unfamiliar faces of masters and slaves he'd
never met.
     "Try to open your eyes, Alex," I heard Bartholomew say.
     I knelt down a bit and saw my boy's beautiful hazel orbs
flutter open. Hanging upside-down, his surroundings must have
seemed strange and disorienting. Normal things take on a very
different impression when one's perspective has changed so
dramatically. Alex blinked rapidly at first and moved his eyes
quickly from side to side. The boy discovered he could turn his
head in the yoke from left to right, he just could not move it up
or down.
     And then, suddenly, he broke into a wild fit of laughter. At
first I thought the boy poor boy was freaking out, and by the
reaction of others in the room I wasn't the only one, but then
his laughing died down to a boyish giggle and he told me,
"Everyone looks so funny! All upside-down like that!"
     "Sweetie, you're the one . . ."
     "I know, I know," he said with thirteen-year-old aplomb,
"but it helps if I think of it the other way around."
     My clever Alex.
     Bartholomew selected a long knotted cat and stood before the
boy. All Alex could see of him was his booted feet.  It was a
strange scene. This man was not quite old enough to be our
grandfather, but still the contrast between the gray-haired
master and the hairless young boy was striking.
     "Alex, I'm going to whip you now. As hard and as long as I
wish. The only thing that will stop me is your safeword. It is my
intention to make you use it. Understand?"
     "Yes, sir," came a brave but truly frightened response. The
boy's cock was painfully erect, kept in that state by the leather
strap tied tightly around it.
     Bartholomew turned his eyes to me. "Does the boy have
permission to cum?"
     "He does," I said without hesitation.
     "Then he shall."
     It began with a few gentle and loving strokes of Alexander's
penis administered by firm, expert hands. The boy shivered and
moaned as the pleasure washed over him. Tied off as it was, his
cock had swollen to an unnatural thickness, such a large organ
for such a lean and slender boy. His young hairless balls had
turned a nice shade of purple. Bartholomew gave them each a firm
squeeze as he continued to force Alex' foreskin up and down over
the dark, glistening crown. The boy's juices were flowing freely,
as they always did when the little man got excited. A single line
of clear pre-cum was dangling from the tip of his cock, hanging
in mid-air, working its way slowly toward the ground. The boy's
breathing was coming in raspy pants now, and he was moaning
loudly. He was getting close.
     Bartholomew stopped just short of letting Alex cum. Then he
went to work with the cat. It whistled through the warm humid air
and cracked sharply against the boy's stomach. No gentle
introductions, instead a hard and cruel and excruciating
demonstration of pain that was only just beginning. Alex gasped
and moaned, but did not cry out. Bartholomew gave him another
one, even harder than the first.
     Alex grunted and hissed through clenched teeth.
     Another one, across his chest. This one leaving immediate
welts. And another immediately after, wrapping the lashes of the
cat around his thighs.
     The boy writhed sharply in his bonds and moaned again, the
pitch of his voice quite a bit higher than before.
     "Think you're not going to cry for me, don't you, Alex?"
Bartholomew asked in a tone that somehow reflected both softness
and extraordinary malice.
     Alex just hung there in silence for a moment. Then I heard
him whisper, "I won't ever cry for you, sir," under his breath.
     A blatant challenge from a thirteen-year-old boy.
Bartholomew's eyes lit up with a purposeful fire. I knew Alex had
just made a big mistake. `Never dare a sadist,' would become one
of his favorite sayings, a lesson well and painfully learned this
day.
     The cat sang in the air once more, cracking against the
boy's abdomen. Alex screamed for the first time, loud and high
and piercing. The scream of a boy. The scream of a child. Soon
his screams were coming in quick succession, the echo of the last
not quite dying before the next took its place, and always
accompanied by the sound of nine slender strands of leather upon
tender young skin. The boy's front side, from his thighs to his
chest, was covered in dark red lines and angry welts. Alex was
heaving and gasping and groaning between shrieks of agony. He
flinched instinctively now, every time he heard the whistle and
snap of the leather.
     For me, simply standing there, observing his suffering,
rather than inflicting it myself, was a profoundly difficult, yet
profoundly satisfying experience. I knew, every bit was well as
Alex himself did, that he could twist me and turn me in
practically any direction he liked. Alex was the master where
those kinds of things were concerned. When he wanted it hard, he
worked it out so he got it that way, delivered by my own loving
hands. When he wanted it soft, the same. Being aware of the fact
did little to change it.
     This was different. Bartholomew was not going to play the
boy's clever little games. All three of us knew it, although Alex
was likely the last to figure it out. He clenched his fists
tightly as Bartholomew walked around behind him, allowing the cat
to drag along the floor. Just the sound of it was enough to leave
the boy shaking.
     Before the blows resumed, Bartholomew reached around and
again took the thirteen-year-old's penis into his hands. This
time the strokes were harsh and fast, his grip tight and
unrelenting. Alex whined plaintively as his sensitive young cock
was roughly abused. Of course with the yoke around his neck, he
could not look up to see what was happening, but he could feel
those cruel invisible hands working his most tender flesh. I
could tell by my boy's weak, almost frantic groans, that he was
not enjoying himself very much.
     "Why aren't you cumming, Alex?" Bartholomew asked in a
wicked voice. He slapped the boy's cock, hard. Alex yelped and
wiggled his hips, earning him yet another slap. I thought I heard
the first little sob issue from his throat, but Bartholomew
wanted more. He picked up the cat and began working on the boy's
backside. A new round of screams began.
     It was not savage or violent as one might expect, and that,
of course, was the secret of its great cruelty. Slow. Cold.
Controlled. Meticulous. Each blow an individual work of art by
the master handling the lash, each designed to inflict maximum
pain with minimal force. I watched them carefully, the aging
sadist and the child masochist as they slowly lost themselves in
their natural roles. With every scream, every high-pitched little
wail, every mournful whimper, it seemed Alex was speaking in a
language all his own, one very few would ever understand. Most
would turn away in pity, but Bartholomew only increased the
frequency and severity of the lessons he was administering.
     All the while the boy's erection remained in plain view,
dripping and throbbing.
     Bartholomew finally tossed aside the cat and selected a
long, fearsome whip. Alex, naturally, could not see it coming,
but he did sense it. I watched him tense as it was drawn back for
the first time. It tore into his back with unbelievable force,
causing the boy to jerk and swing violently in his bonds. There
was no scream, for the pain had taken Alex' breath away.
     I walked round behind the frame and could see the slender
welts and deep bruises left by the cat. The first mark of the
whip was also there, right across the small of his back, red as
fire. Then it snapped through the air again, landing on the boy's
badly beaten behind, already a deep shade of crimson. I watched
for several more minutes as the whip did its work. Bartholomew
was less swift with the blows now, allowing the boy more time to
recover. It was a small gesture of tenderness I suspected he
would not have given for one older or more experienced.
     Still Alex was close to hysterics. And he was indeed crying,
fitfully, desperately. It was a strangely beautiful sound,
echoing through the large building. I suddenly noticed that it
was the only sound I could hear. Everything else had stopped, and
those present, masters and slaves alike, were watching the boy's
ordeal in utter silence. Alex hung there by his ankles, battered
and beaten and sobbing, and we all knew it was not over.
     Bartholomew did not gloat over his victory; rather, he
acknowledged the boy's tears with a gentle loving squeeze of his
cute young feet. Alex sniffled and whimpered. Then the cat was
drawn up again to rain its master's fury down upon the helpless
boy with renewed vigor.
     "Ahhaaa," Alex groaned. "No. No, please stop. Please."
     The first coherent words Alex had managed to say in quite
some time.
     And another round of blows swiftly and harshly delivered.
     "Please! It hurts so bad!"
     Bartholomew stopped, but only to look at me from behind
Alex' bruised and welted body. The boy glistened with sweat, and
he was swinging gently forward and back on the ropes, a residual
motion from the brutal force of the last blow. His slender arms
dangled limp and lifeless, his fingers grazed the floor.
     "Master Steven, your boy is making far too much noise. If
you would be so kind as to gag him, we will continue."
     I'd set the ball-gag aside earlier. It was there with the
rest of his gear, not far from the frame. I picked it up and
knelt down in front of him. The boy's eyes were swollen from
exhaustion and filled with anguish.
     "Please don't," he begged me softly, but he did not resist
as I opened his mouth and stuffed the ball inside. I reached
behind his head and buckled the straps tightly. He wiggled in
protest as best he could, and then Bartholomew did indeed
continue, once again with the whip. It curled around his thighs,
and cracked against his back, forcing a new chorus of anguished
cries from the boy's throat. The brief pause seemed to have given
Alex his lungs back, and he screamed under the lash with renewed
strength.
     When finally the boy was reduced to sobs and whimpers,
Bartholomew cast the whip aside and took the thirteen-year-old's
swollen cock into his hands again. Alex hissed and cried out
through his gag. He writhed and shook violently in his bonds.
With his nerves whipped raw and his mind flashing with pain, the
mere touch to his penis was electric. Before long, Bartholomew
had the boy grunting and gasping and curling his toes.
     "You're going to cum now, Alex," he said softly.
     And he did. Alex let out a frantic little wail, muffled by
the gag, then shot his young sperm in violent spasms. The boy's
entire body shuddered as the contractions of ejaculation swept
over him. Then his muscles went limp and he hung there, spent and
panting and crying quietly to himself.
     His was not the only voice. I was suddenly aware of a rising
chorus of murmurs and whispers, all in praise and appreciation of
this brave young boy, my brother, my slave. I'd quite forgotten
that Alex had drawn a crowd, lost just as he was in his exquisite
torment. Now I turned and faced them and met the approving
gestures of other masters. Several stepped forward and shook my
hand, congratulating me on training Alex so well and so quickly.
Then they would pause and gaze at the slender boy suspended by
his ankles, admiring the colorful collection of bruises and welts
that covered him from his chest to his ankles. Blue and purple
and deep red, Bartholomew had used the boy's body as a living
canvas for his special art, and Alex, who would wear those marks
with pride, was still sobbing, softly.
     With an unspoken gesture, Bartholomew indicated it was time
to get the boy down. The yoke come off first. Quite a bit of the
boy's cum had fallen upon it. The boy's genitals were untied
next, the release of pressure allowing one last tiny stream of
sperm to dribble out. I removed his gag. He'd bitten down so hard
from the pain that it bore the marks of his teeth from that day
forward.
     "No talking," I told him, but I knew my Alex was incapable
of words at the moment. A little moan was the only sound he made.
     Beaten and battered as he was, getting him upright again
proved a difficult task. He cried out for a moment and struggled
against my touch as I gently lifted his neck and shoulders,
bending him at the waist, his legs still above his head. Once I
had him under control, Bartholomew released the ropes and slowly
lowered him to the ground.
     Alex gasped when his backside first touched the cold floor.
He lay there quietly, with his arms at his sides, wiggling his
fingers and clenching them into loose fists, staring up at the
bondage frame, blinking his beautiful eyes in a slow thoughtful
rhythm. I'd seen him perform this ritual before at the end of our
scenes, his way of absorbing all that had happened and calming
himself. I knelt beside him and ran my hands gently through his
hair, soaked with sweat. I kissed him on his sweet little nose
and he smiled for me.
     "You really are something," I said. And I meant it. Alex
slowly moved his arm toward me, and I took his hand. He closed
his eyes and held on tightly. I thought about that light and
unsure grip I remembered from five years ago, when I first took
him back home, and how so much had changed. I gave his hand a
firm squeeze and he squeezed back.
     Bartholomew stood over us both, and again he was the kindly
gentleman we'd first encountered. "We should get him on his
feet," he said to me gently. "Have the boy walk around, then you
can lay him down for a while. There are suites on the second
floor, I'll see that one is made ready for you."
     Alex gave no sign of protest as we slowly sat him up. His
breathing had slowed to a less frantic pace now, but it was still
quick and shallow.
     "Deep breaths, Alex," I said. "Take your time."
     Once he seemed to be more in control, Bartholomew and I each
put a hand under his arms and raised him to his feet. Alex
groaned and winced, and he swayed awkwardly from side to side,
his beautiful legs barely able to support his weight. I rubbed
his shoulders. He leaned his head back against my chest.
     "Come on, sweetie, walk around." I pushed Alex gently to get
him moving. I kept a close eye on him but let him choose his own
course. He walked around the bondage frame, studying it with
tired young eyes, casually running his fingers over the wooden
supports. It seemed to hold more of a fascination for him now
than it had before. Alex bent over slowly, grimacing from the
pain, and picked up the cat-o-nines where Bartholomew had dropped
it. It was slightly longer than the one he and I always used, the
leather straps a bit thinner, the knotted ends a bit smaller and
tighter. Holding the grip in his left hand, he gently played the
straps around his thighs and over his cock and balls. He
inspected it closely, fingering the leather and feeling its
weight in his hand. Finally with a self-satisfied nod, he put it
back on the empty hook on the wooden frame and made his way back
to me.
     During this time Bartholomew had disappeared, and I noticed
so too had all of Alex' gear. I was just taking the boy gently
into my arms when the old gentleman returned. I spun my boy
around tenderly to face him, but I still kept my arms around his
shoulders, noticeably broader than they had been at the start of
this wild and amazing summer neither of us would ever forget.
     The experienced sadist stood before my tired young masochist
and offered his hand. Alex took it with a smile, sincere, if
weakened by exhaustion.
     "You've got mettle, young man," Bartholomew said. "I nearly
broke a sweat. Next time there will be no holding back. Clear?"
     With wide awestruck eyes Alex slowly nodded his head.
     Bartholomew then handed me a key. "Upstairs, third door on
your right. I've taken all his things up already. You'll find
some lotions for him on the nightstand. Take as long as you like.
The room is yours for the duration. There's always something
going on, so don't worry about missing any of the fun."
     I handed the key to Alex and then took his hand. Together we
headed for the stairs at the far end of the carriage house. There
were still a few masters and slaves loitering about as we
retired, and of course the collection of naked young men chained
to the wall. None of them had moved since we arrived.
     "I enjoyed hearing you scream, Alex," Bartholomew said
darkly from behind, firing his last calculated blow at the boy.
Alex trembled and turned his head for just a moment. I didn't see
my boy's eyes, but I did see Bartholomew's, and I knew that a
challenge had just been made and accepted. Alex didn't say a
word. He pressed his sore and tired body against me, as close as
the pain would allow, and I helped him stagger up the steps.

     Our room was indeed a suite, with a comfortable sitting
area, a spacious bathroom with sunken tub, a modest kitchenette,
and of course a large bedroom. It was softly lit throughout and
decorated in a modern style with sleek, clean-lined furniture and
contrasting colors. We both smiled at each other when we entered,
for it was clear Bartholomew had chosen this room specifically
for its bright d‚cor, a perfect fit for a thirteen-year-old boy.
     "Would you like a bath first?" I asked, as I held his head
against my chest, fingering one of the silvery rings on his
collar. He looked up at me and blinked his tired eyes once. I
pulled gently pulled him along and he followed me into the
bathroom.
     "Start the water, Alex."
     He did. The steam began to rise immediately.
     "Undress me."
     He did. Sore and covered in bruises and welts, he did. I was
hard and dripping instantly.
     "Do you want this?" I asked, taking the boy's hand and
wrapping it around my cock. He nodded slowly and a little tear
ran down his cheek.
     "Kneel."
     That was harder for him. He winced and whimpered as he
dropped to his knees.
     "Pleasure your master."
     Words Alex had heard from me before, but never after he had
endured so much pain or been so completely worn out and
exhausted. He took me into his mouth. It was dry from screaming,
but his tongue was soft and warm and wonderful. A small chorus of
muffled boyish groans began as he worked my cock deeper and
deeper down his throat. I could tell he was tired and struggling
just to stay on his knees, but he did his best. I laid my hands
on his shoulders and massaged him gently.
     "Don't let me cum, save it for later."
     "Mmmmph."
     For several minutes he kept me on the edge, until I finally
had to make him stop. I helped him stand up again and drew him
close, careful not to hug him too tightly. Still he whimpered
when I put my right arm around him. I reached down and cupped my
left hand around his balls, kneading them in their loose hairless
scrotum. He shuffled his feet and moved closer, enduring the
silent anguish of his welted skin pressed again mine. Another
whimper came as I gently brushed against his soft penis. It
twitched involuntarily. I laid Alex' five inches of flesh across
the palm of my hand and gently rubbed it with my thumb. Still
velvety soft like a boy's should be, but thick and substantial, a
beautiful organ for a beautiful young man of thirteen.
     I raised his tired eyes to my own and kissed him on the
lips. His tongue danced playfully with mine as I let his penis
flop back down against his balls and worked my hand delicately
over his stomach and chest, causing him to take a sharp breath. I
stopped to play with his nipples. They hardened instantly at my
light touch. Then I bent over and took the left one into my
mouth.
     "Aaahh," he sighed as I bit down gently.
     After both were given the same treatment for several
minutes, I stood over him again, still nearly a foot taller than
the growing boy.
     "Bend over, Lexi."
     He did, and I gently tugged on his butt-plug, loosening him
a bit first before I pulled it out with a single motion. Alex
grunted and gave me a high-pitched little squeal. As always,
cleaning the plug was his responsibility. He took it to the sink
and washed it off without having to be told. By the time the boy
was finished, the water was warm and steamy in the sunken tub. I
fished my keys from the pocket of my jeans, lying crumpled on the
floor, and unlocked the boy's cuffs. Alex stood as straight and
still as he could, but his young body was quivering now from
exhaustion. I set the boy's restraints aside, and last removed
his collar.
     "Get in the tub, sweetie."
     Alex stepped in gingerly, giving me a good look at the deep
bruises that covered his behind and the backs of his thighs. The
welts on his back were already fading a little, turning from
their angry red to a soft pink. He didn't quite know what to do
with himself once he was in the water. Sitting down was not
something he'd be able to do for quite some time.
     I got in after him, then gently pulled the boy down in front
of me, setting him between my legs, letting him rest his tortured
back against my chest. He sighed and lay his head back onto my
shoulder. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing soft and
quiet. I rubbed his arms and held his hands.
     After a leisurely soak, I got him up and dried him off with
great care. Then we walked hand in hand to the bedroom. I lay him
across the bed on his stomach. He looked at me with hopeful,
loving eyes. I lay down beside him for just a moment, caressing
his back. Alex winced and whimpered and let out a long sigh.
     "Are you alright?" I asked. "I want the truth."
     The boy nodded slowly into his pillow. I ran a finger softly
around his ear, then massaged the back of his neck. There was a
bottle of lotion on the small table beside us. I squeezed a
liberal amount into my hands and worked it slowly into his back.
It smelled faintly of sweet pine, and Alex breathed in the vapors
deeply. He flinched now and again at my touch, but I was careful
to be light and gentle with him, applying the cooling, healing
lotion, and pausing often to hold his hand.
     When the boy was nearly asleep, I squeezed his shoulder
firmly and left the bed. "Don't move," I told him. Alex let out
one of those ironic little laughs that only boys of thirteen can
manage convincingly. Briefly I explored the bedroom, not at all
surprised to find the large mahogany armoire filled with all
variety of fun toys for use on a young slave. I selected a rather
mean looking dildo, thick and twisted with a large bulbous end.
And then a harsh pair of nipple clamps for later.
     Alex was breathing softly when I returned, but I saw his
eyes flutter and knew he was still awake. I raised his head,
tenderly but firmly, and took the pillow away. He dropped his
head weakly onto the mattress and I worked the pillow under his
stomach, raising his rear end a bit higher. The old bed creaked
as we moved around, and he moaned softly. Instinctively he spread
his legs, and I gave the backs of his thighs a little pat of
affection.
     "Good boy," I said, as I lubed the dildo, making sure a few
drops fell onto his back, just to let him know what was coming. I
held the frightful looking thing before his tired eyes as he lay
with his head turned to one side. "Do you want this?" I asked.
     I honestly couldn't tell if the muffled sound that escaped
was a yes or a no, but of course his answer would not have
changed anything. My index finger was nice and slippery from the
lube, and I stuck it into his quivering boy-hole, all the way
down to the knuckle, with no resistance at all. The larger plug
had opened him nicely, and I worked one, then two, then finally
three fingers inside him. Alex wiggled and groaned, then gave me
a plaintive little cry when I pulled out. I moved close and
licked my tongue around his opening, enjoying the fragrant musky
smell of a very young teenaged boy.
     Alex gasped and trembled. My tongue had touched just about
every part of his body over the past two months, but this was
something new and exciting. I only gave him a few brief seconds
of this pleasure, just enough to make him long for it when it was
taken away. From the sound he made, I knew he was not happy that
I stopped.
     "You have to earn your pleasure from now on, Lexi," I said
sharply. "Pain on the other hand . . ." And I forced the dildo
inside him. His head left the mattress and he screamed in agony.
It was an enormous prong for a boy so young to take, but seven of
its ten inches were quickly inside him, its thick round head no
doubt causing endless torment to his already over-stimulated
prostate. I left it in him like that for a minute or so while I
worked my hands roughly between his legs and played with his cock
and balls.
     "Don't you dare get hard," I told him, knowing it was an
impossible demand to make of a thirteen-year-old boy. Which was,
of course, exactly why I said it.
     For the next half-hour I casually abused him with the dildo.
Sometimes hard and fast, causing him to writhe and sob and shout,
sometimes slow and gentle, causing him to moan and coo in
delight, sometimes just leaving it in him, making him wonder when
it would start again. After that first thirty minutes, as he lay
panting and trembling, I once again reached beneath him, and
there, of course, I felt a six-inch hard boy-cock pressed and
throbbing against the pillow.
     "What did I tell you?" I scolded him a low menacing voice.
"You will be punished."
     "I can't help it, master," he said, his newly pubescent
voice crackling awkwardly.
     Immediately I gave him a hard spanking, the dildo still
inside him driven yet deeper as my hands rained down upon his
already bruised and welted behind. I only gave him twenty, but in
his current state it was enough to drive him into a new round of
frantic screams and cries.
     "That was for speaking without permission," I explained
after he'd calmed down. "We'll deal with your erection later." I
pulled the dildo out of him and let it fall onto the floor with a
thud. Without allowing him a moment's pause, I entered him and
gave my boy a good long fuck. The only sounds around us were the
creaking of the bed and his soft moans as he lay beneath me. I
sped up as I got closer to the edge, and soon we were both
panting and groaning. Alex was grinding his slender hips into the
pillow. I knew what he was doing, and he'd have to pay a price
for it later, but for now we were both deeply and truly lost in
one another. I felt Alex' muscles tense as I came inside him, and
he cried out as he spilled his seed, his second orgasm of the
day.
     I pulled out and rolled him onto his back. His cock, already
softening, flopped against his thigh, five inches of horny,
beautiful thirteen-year-old flesh, wet and shiny with his young
juices. Alex looked at me with dancing eyes. I crawled closer to
him and presented my cock, close to his face.
     "Clean it."
     Bless his young heart, he was actually confused. He looked
around for a rag. I moved myself closer until my dick was almost
touching his lips. Then he understood and his eyes filled with
dread.
     "Use your tongue, Lexi."
     This was clearly something he did not want to do, but he
bravely raised his head and opened his mouth. I felt is warm wet
tongue lapping timidly against my cock. The mere thought of him
licking his own shit and my cum off the flesh that had just been
used to roughly fuck him was quite a turn on. I grabbed a handful
of his short chestnut-brown hair, damp with sweat, and pressed
myself yet closer.
     "You'll have to do better than that."
     I felt the boy suppressing a gag, and then he went to work
with renewed focus. His eyes were tightly closed. I could tell
Alex was hating every moment of this, but he did it, because he
was a slave, and his master had given him an order. After a few
minutes, I gently pushed him away. My dick was wet with Alex'
saliva, and perfectly clean. His hands were shaking as he stared
at me. There was a look of shock, and even, was it, yes, a little
anger, on his sweet young face.
     "You hate me right now, don't you?" I asked.
     He turned his face away from me.
     "Answer me when I ask you a question, Alex. Speak."
     His voice was low and quiet when he finally answered. "Yes,
sir."
     "'Yes, sir', what?"
     "Yes, sir, I hate you right now."
     "Good. How does that make you feel? Hating me."
     Alex was silent for a moment. Then he turned his beautiful
eyes on me once again. They were blazing. "Makes me feel like I
want to tell you to fuck off and leave me alone, or something
like that."
     "Then why don't you?"
     "You know why," he answered sharply.
     "Watch that tone, young man. Tell me why."
     "Because I'm a slave. It doesn't matter if I love you or
hate you. I'm your slave." The emphasis on `your' was
unmistakable.
     "And I can do whatever I want to you, can't I?"
     "Yes, sir."
     "Lie down on your back."
     He did. I took the nipple clamps from the side table and
crawled over him so that we were face to face. Alex was still so
small and slender beneath me. Leisurely I rubbed the boy's little
dime-sized nubs, suckled them and bit down gently. They were hard
and glistening with moisture when I opened the first of the
clamps and closed it slowly around his left nipple. Alex hissed
and jerked wildly beneath me. A firm hand on his chest made him
lie still again. I placed the second clamp in the same fashion as
the first. They were a rather nasty set, with tiny metal teeth
designed to dig into the soft pink flesh.
     "Do they hurt?" I taunted cruelly.
     "Awwwwhahh, goddammit, yes!" Alex thrashed his head from
side to side as tears began to run from his eyes. I sat back,
resting my weight on the boy's shapely legs, watching the taut
lean muscles in his stomach contract has he struggled to breathe
against the pain. I circled my fingers around his cute little
navel, sending the ticklish boy into spasms of anguished
laughter. In that moment his body seemed so tight I thought he
might snap, every muscle was tensed and hard as steel. In fact
only one part of his anatomy was soft at the moment, and I had to
smile at that.
     I worked his balls for a while, rolling them around in my
hands, kneading them gently, squeezing them with just enough
pressure to cause him a bit of pain. They had always hung nice
and low in their loose velvety sack, even when he was eight or
nine years old they'd dangle around sexily between his little
legs. Now they were heavy, and he had reached that age where they
seemed to be growing larger and hanging lower each and every day.
I licked them and took one then the other into my mouth. Alex
gasped in delight and spread his legs a little wider, always my
signal that I'd given him enough to leave him desperate and
frustrated.
     With the clamps still in place, I worked on his bare feet
for a while, alternating between gentle loving massages, and
fierce relentless tickling, the combination of which left the boy
in a state of near panic. I ended by kissing each of his ten
young toes.
     "Take a deep breath, sweetheart," I said, as I took the
clamp on his right nipple between my fingers. Alex locked his
eyes on me and obeyed. I removed it quickly, the harsh gripping
metal teeth releasing their hold. I expected a shout or a cry,
but all the boy could manage was an exhausted whimper. The other
clamp came off in the same manner, eliciting the same response. I
kissed him on the cheek, placed the pillow still wet with his cum
beneath his head, and covered him with the sheets and blankets.
     "Get some rest, Alex," I said. The boy was already asleep by
the time I reached the sitting room. I could hear him moaning
softly through the open door.

     It was just early afternoon, yet it seemed we'd been here a
full day already. Alex and I had both noticed from the very start
of our new lifestyle that time moves at a different pace when one
is deeply involved in a scene, something we would often comment
on as the years went by. There would be times when minutes spent
in the dungeon turned out to be many long hours, and others, when
the pain was new or particularly hard for him, where hours were
really but a few minutes.
     Alex definitely needed some down time though, so I contented
myself with a warm cup of tea from the little kitchenette, and a
leisurely rest on the sofa, scanning several of the photo books
laid out for the guests' enjoyment. I was about to drift off
myself, when I heard a polite knock on the door. I set my tea
aside and opened it to find Robert and Michael with warm, knowing
smiles on their faces, and beside them Samuel Collins and young
Sebastian. Stark naked young Sebastian I might add. The eleven-
year-old boy was on all fours and wearing only a studded leather
collar around his slender neck. He was leashed to a decorative
bracelet around his master's wrist.
     I gestured them all inside, Robert and Michael first, Sam
with his redheaded nephew in tow. As the boy passed me on his
hands and knees, I got a nice look at a cute pale little ass,
currently plugged, and a set of tiny but low-hanging balls
swinging in a soft pink scrotum. A glint of metal caught my eye
and I had to look again. There was a golden ring piercing
Sebastian's scrotum. Quite alluring, but I did not yet know it's
true significance. This was the first time I had ever seen
Sebastian naked, and my first chance to truly appreciate the
delicate vine of barbed wire tattooed around his narrow waist.
Normally it was hidden by the locking leather shorts, which
Samuel seemed to keep the boy in at all times. I whistled in
admiration. Rob and Sam both smiled. I'd already made up my mind
that Alex wasn't leaving here without a bit of Samuel's artwork
somewhere on his young body. Something small and inconspicuous so
he wouldn't be embarrassed, but something that would always serve
to remind him that he was a slave.
     Robert took the comfortable chair I offered, and Samuel
followed suit. Michael knelt humbly at his master's side,
relieved it seemed to be off his feet, which I later learned had
been beaten quite ruthlessly earlier in the day. Samuel tugged
firmly on Sebastian's leash, and the boy stood up. Like Alex he's
a muscular little kid, although just barely four feet tall.
Shapely arms and sturdy legs, and a lean flat stomach, clearly
the product of strict diet and stricter exercise.
     Sebastian stood with his feet wide apart, and his hands
clasped behind his back. Samuel released the boy's leash and let
it hang free from his collar. Surveying him from head to toe, I
paused at his little boy-cock. Well, not so little actually,
average size for a boy of eleven I suppose, but I had grown so
accustomed over the last few years to Lexi's rather large
endowment, that even a healthy youngster like Sebastian appeared
small by comparison. He was circumcised, and pierced, and I
quickly realized the ring in his scrotum was also the same one I
was looking at now at the tip of his penis.
     "A little chastity piercing," Doctor Collins explained.
"Simple and effective. Take a closer look if you like. Seb."
     Immediately the boy moved closer to me. I knelt down to
examine his hairless genitals. The ring was small, only about a
half inch in diameter. It was open on one end, so it clearly
could be removed whenever Samuel wished. It had the effect of
pulling the boy's cock downward and under his balls just a bit.
Erection was simply impossible and orgasm out of the question.
     The pants. The ring. Sebastian was being raised in total
chastity. I stared at Samuel in amazement, and just a little
dismay. It was not something I would ever choose for Alex. I
might threaten him with it on occasion, to put some fear into
him, but never actually dream of doing it, or imagine that it
could be done.
     "He uses it for only one thing," the doctor said with a
satisfied grin. "Sebastian, what is your penis for?"
     The boy stood up straight and looked his master in the eye.
"For urinating, sir."
     "Anything else?"
     "No, sir."
     "I remove the ring once a week," Collins went on to explain,
"and make him keep an erection for four or five hours . . . "
     I wondered just exactly how that was done.
     " . . . I want to make sure he can still get hard, not that
he'll ever have any reason to."
     There is a dark side to Samuel Collins that shows forth at
certain times. At the moment he was actually beginning to
frighten me, just a little. But then he smiled and pulled Seb
onto his lap and gently rubbed the boy's back.
     "Of course once he starts having wet dreams, I'll have to be
a bit more flexible, but it's just a habit I'm training him in."
     They embraced and shared a loving kiss, then Sam quietly
ordered the boy back on all fours, which is how he would remain
for the rest of the day. Seb was adorable, and we all gave him a
little smile, which he happily returned. Robert then rested his
gray eyes on me.
     "Everyone is talking about Alex' performance with
Bartholomew this morning. Is it true he didn't use his safeword?"
     I nodded, only just now appreciating the boy's rather
incredible feat of strength and bravery. "It's true."
     "Amazing. I should tell you the young man has quickly become
a celebrity here. Everyone is asking when they'll be seeing him
again. Wim would like to introduce him to the group this evening,
before the hunt, naturally."
     The hunt. The twinkle in Robert's eyes told me Alex would be
more than just the guest of honor. I looked back into the
darkened room where my sweet boy lay sleeping. The debate in my
heart was real. I wanted the boy to experience as much as he
could here, but I wasn't sure this was something I should force
him to do. Robert, as always, seemed to read my doubts, and had
his usual logical and masterful answer.
     "It's really nothing more than an initiation for a novice
slave," he explained. "Not exactly a friendly one, but Michael
went through it. Sebastian did as well, and he was only eight at
the time, weren't you, little one?"
     Seb looked up at his master for permission, then nodded
silently.
     "Tell Master Steven all about it, Seb," Doctor Collins
commanded in his gentle, but unmistakably final way.
     The boy sat up, but obediently kept his hands and knees flat
on the floor. He gazed at me with bright, vibrant green eyes.
"Well, sir," he began in the subtle remains of a British accent,
"I was naked, like I am now, and I got chased all over . . . by
other masters. They had whips, and a great big net, and sticks,
sir, there were sticks, long ones. I never did get caught, sir. I
made it back to my master." And at those words he leaned against
Samuel's leg for comfort, and received it with a gentle caressing
hand on his back.
     "Only boy who's ever gotten back to his master, Steven,"
Robert said in sincere appreciation. "But then Seb is a clever
little devil. So is Alex. He'll do very well. No harm will come
to him. A few cuts and scrapes in the wood maybe, but he will be
perfectly safe. I supervise these little escapades myself, and
you have my word."
     Robert's word has always been good enough, and it was this
day as well.
     "Where should I bring him, and when?" I asked, my decision
made.
     Both of my older companions and mentors smiled softly.
Robert answered. "Seven o'clock this evening. Have him in the
main pavilion. He should be naked."
     Robert proceeded to explain everything to me, but of course
Alex was to know only that he was being hunted, and that whoever
caught him would get to use him for the rest of the night, any
way he saw fit, without his master around to intervene. It was a
complete fabrication of course, but it would give the boy
incentive not to get caught, and make him somewhat more sporting
prey.
     "If he does make it back to me, I must assume there's some
reward in store for him."
     "No," Samuel answered. "Making it back to his master's
loving arms is reward enough for any slave, wouldn't you agree?"
     I had to admit I liked his thinking, but Robert had another
more interesting thought.
     "There should be a reward alright," his tone was positively
wicked, "something that will test him to his absolute limits."
     "What did you have in mind?" I asked.
     "Ha. No, no, Steven," he waved a playful finger at me. "You
are his master, you decide. I won't have that boy hating me!"
      It came to me suddenly, something we'd already played
around with a bit, but never done seriously. "I want to keep him
awake, no sleep at all, just torture and punishment and training,
and all the sex he can take."
     Robert's eyes lit up. "How long were you thinking of doing
it?"
     "I don't know. How long is safe for a boy his age? Three
days?"
     "Let's try five," Samuel suggested.
     I did the math in my head. Five days would take us through
the rest of the week, and Alex would still have the weekend to
recover for the start of school. I agreed on the spot, and then
of course the complexity of the situation struck me.
     "I'm going to need some help."
     "You'll have it," Robert replied. "Samuel and I, and the
boys here. Two of us should always be up with him, in case he
gets into real trouble. I'll have Michael work out a schedule.
We'll start after the hunt is over, regardless of how it turns
out."
     "Alex is already exhausted," I said. "The next five days are
going to be interesting."
     "In more ways than you know," Robert replied with a devilish
wink.