Date: Sat, 21 Dec 2002 11:35:19 -0500
From: istari <istari@blazenet.net>
Subject: Mastering Alex 28 - 29

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.

Comments are welcome at istari_olias@hotmail.com


Mastering Alex


Chapter 28: Magic and Loss

     I've said before that Alex has a certain magic about
him, a way of turning people's emotions inside out. He can
bring joy with the merest flash of his beautiful eyes, or
the gentle touch of his hand. He can also take it away when
it suits him, or bring other less welcome feelings into the
light. He'd be a mystic, if fantasy and magic were things I
believed in. But I don't. What he is instead is a skilled
manipulator. Most times I know he's not even aware of the
effect he has on those around him, me especially, and he
does it without meaning to.
     But just as I have learned that I have a certain power
to hurt him, Alex knows he has the power to hurt me in
return.
     He would not look at me as he stood there, battered and
exhausted from the nightmarish chase that had lasted nearly
two hours. A chase he could have ended, and didn't. And now
we would both pay a price for it at the hands of a man
neither of us even knew.
     Had it been Robert, or Samuel, or even Bartholomew,
perhaps it would not have seemed so awful. Not that there
was anything overtly sinister about this Vincent. I'd
noticed him earlier. Younger like myself, with a handsome
slave just out of his teens. He'd done nothing to indicate
that he might not be trustworthy, but I could tell by his
posture, and the way he had my boy tied, that he was likely
a rough and stern master. And of course there was the simple
fact that he did not love Alex. He did not know what makes
my boy happy, what makes him sad, what makes him smile, and
what really and truly hurts him. How could I just let this
man take him for the night?
     Vincent extended his hand to me as the other masters
gathered round, all quite disappointed in the outcome and
quite jealous of the winner's luck, or skill. His grip was
strong and sure.
     "Quite a boy you have here, Master Steven," he said in
a soft voice.
     I had no argument there. Alex still would not raise his
head.
     Vincent turned the boy round so I could see his
backside. There between his shoulders was a livid scratch,
bruised around the edges. The mark was unmistakable. "Mayday
had his paws into him when I found them. It's a good thing
the boy was plugged or we'd still be trying to get them
apart."
     That was a vision I quickly ushered from my mind, but
of course, it kept coming back in spite of my best efforts,
as all my visions of Alex in unspeakable torment often did.
     I had to force myself to focus on Wim as he quietly
explained the rules. "Vincent, the boy is yours until
midnight. You may do as you wish with him. Steven, you
cannot interfere."
     I nodded that I understood.
     Wim continued addressing the victor, as Alex stood
straight and still and quiet beside him, the wiggling of his
toes the only movement he made. "You are strictly forbidden
to do anything that might cause lasting injury. Alex has a
safeword. You will respect it."
     "Of course," the young master said, looking at me with
surprisingly gentle eyes. "Still, I would very much like to
hear him scream."
     I couldn't help but smile, even as my heart raced in my
chest. "He'll scream beautifully for you."  Alex raised his
head for just a second and gave me a vacant stare. Then he
lowered his chin to his chest once more.
     "I'm sure he will."
     "At midnight," Wim continued, "you will return the boy
to his master," and he handed Vincent a card that certainly
had my room on it.
     Vincent then turned his eyes to me. "Master, I will
release my claim on him if you wish."
     It was the gesture I'd been told to expect should Alex
get himself caught, and it was given with all sincerity. I
almost took it without a second thought. But I didn't.
Instead I stood in front of Alex and studied this boy I'd
always thought I knew so well. He was filthy and utterly
spent, his rapid breathing the only visible sign that he was
currently terrified. With a hand under his chin I forced him
to look at me.
     He was angry. Angry at me for leaving him alone most of
the afternoon, for putting him on display when I knew he
hated it, most of all for making him do this, for the dogs,
for the chase, for just about everything else he could think
of in that moment.
      In the lowest, softest voice I'd ever heard him use,
Alex spoke just two words to me.
     "Fuck you."
     If it was his intention to make me angry in return, it
worked. I took his leash from my pocket and handed it to
Vincent. "Take him."
     And he did. Roughly. Alex stumbled along behind, and I
watched until they disappeared into the house. Wim's hand
found my shoulder.
     "I've known Vince since he was Joshua's age. Perfectly
safe. Make no mistake, he will be very hard on Alex. Expect
quite a few bruises when you get him back, but your boy
likes being knocked around doesn't he?"
     "Yes, he does. And sometimes he hits back."
     Wim looked at me with warm and perceptive eyes. "Are
you two fighting?"
     "No. He's just sending me a message. If you don't mind,
I need some time to myself."
     "Certainly." Our host excused himself with his usual
formal style.
     Alone, I returned to our empty room in the carriage
house, nothing left to do but watch the clock and wonder
what was going on in the main house, as the lights from its
many windows shone toward me across the manicured lawn.
     I'd stretched out on the sofa and was already half-
asleep when Robert and Samuel let themselves in. They were
both dressed in worn comfortable jeans and denim shirts.
Michael was as well, looking quite handsome with his blond
hair swept back. Young Sebastian was still in his black T-
shirt, and now he also had a silken pair of black soccer
shorts around his waist, loose-fitting so as not to irritate
the freshly pierced flesh between his legs.
     "I believe there is the little matter of our wager,
Sam," Robert said, clearly concluding a conversation from
outside.
     With a frown and a sigh, the doctor reached into his
back pocket and pulled out a substantial roll of bills which
quickly found its way into Robert's hands.
     "I'd have bet a hundred times he was a winner," Collins
said with certain disappointment in his voice. Robert only
laughed.
     "You bet against Alex?" I asked in mock disdain.
     "Turned out to be the smart one, didn't I?" Robert
     replied with his typical biting sarcasm.
     My friends made themselves comfortable while young
Sebastian was sent to the bar to make drinks for everyone.
     "Kid makes a mean martini," Samuel said to me as I
watched the redheaded eleven-year-old pouring and shaking
and plopping olives into the glasses. "Sure you won't have
one?"
     I certainly could have used one at that moment, but
that kind of stuff was off limits, for my own sake, and for
Alex. "Iced tea will be fine," I replied.
     Sam nodded, and his eyes told me he understood. I know
Robert hadn't said anything about the problems of my youth,
it is not his way to share secrets, but Samuel Collins is a
rather perceptive character.
     "It doesn't mean I can't enjoy watching our little
bartender though," I offered with a laugh. It was after all
an incredibly adorable scene. The little guy was too short
and had to kneel on one of the stools in order to reach the
counter. He wiggled his bare toes and hummed a little song
to himself while he worked. It sounded classical.
     "Brahms," Sam proclaimed in answer to my unvoiced
question. "I think. He knows them better than I do. Brahms?"
he called out.
     "Yes, master," Sebastian replied without turning from
his duties. He resumed his little one boy symphony without
missing a note.
     "Is that all he's listening to these days?" Robert
asked with a chuckle as he sat down beside me, pulling
Michael onto the cushion next to him.
     "No. I'm sorry to say he's discovered rock. Or what
passes for it these days. I had to wash his mouth out last
week for singing some lyrics I did not approve of."
     Somehow I imagined that the classic boyhood punishment
took on some wicked twists under Samuel Collins' direction.
He smiled at me.
     "It was just a bar of Ivory, Steven. Honestly, you must
think I'm some sort of monster. Of course he was strapped
down at the time, and it was in his mouth for about three
hours. You won't be singing that song again, will you, boy?"
     "No, sir," the redhead called back, just now placing
the glasses on a silver tray. Sebastian then walked toward
us, expertly balancing it with one hand. He held the tray
down to me with a bright smile and I took my tea.
     "Thank you, Sebastian."
     "My pleasure, sir."
     He served everyone, then stood in front of Samuel with
the tray tucked neatly under his arm.
     "May I have a Pepsi, master?" he asked.
     "Do you think you've been good today?" came the playful
reply.
     Little four-foot Seb stood tall. "Very good, sir."
     "Alright. Just one. No refills."
     "Yes, sir!" And the boy scurried off to the bar once
more.
     "Too much sugar makes him jumpy," Sam explained. "But
he's earned a special treat today."
     "How's his . . . "
     "Healing nicely already."
     Robert laid a hand on my knee as Sebastian toddled back
and sat down gingerly at his master's feet, being sure to
place his aluminum can on a coaster. That boy is almost too
mannerly. It is rather disconcerting at times.
     "Wim told us you had come back here," Robert said. "Are
you having a hard time with this?"
     I nodded, but of course Robert as yet had no clue as to
the real reason.
     "I'm surprised Alex was caught," Sam offered, almost
consoling me it seemed. "Perhaps Bartholomew wore him out a
bit more than he was letting on."
     "No," I said, sipping my tea. "He let himself get
caught. He's trying to teach me a lesson."
     Robert shook his head and grinned. "I was sure he'd do
something like this sooner or later. He likes to push
people's buttons, yours especially."
     "He's very good at it."
     "Masterful, I would say. But I'm afraid he has bitten
off a bit more than he bargained for with Vincent."
     I was about to get to my feet and run off to find him,
such was Robert's tone, but my friend and mentor held me
back. "Don't misread me, Steven. Vincent is trustworthy. He
would never truly harm anyone. But he is also very cruel and
very harsh, and not nearly so patient and tolerant as I am."
     Michael laughed in spite of himself.
     "You will pay for that, dear boy," Robert said,
smacking the eighteen-year-old on the thigh.
     "Vincent plays rather rough. Alex is not used to that.
The boy is having a difficult time right now, rest assured,
and no doubt regretting his decision."
     "Do we go forward with our plans?" Samuel asked, "when
the boy returns."
     I had to think about it, but not for long. "We do."

     At exactly midnight, there was a knock at the door. I
was the only one wide-awake. Sebastian lay curled up in
Samuel's arms as they both lay snoring across the sofa.
Robert had taken Michael into the bedroom hours ago for a
good hard fuck and neither of them had come back out. Seb
cracked his eyes open as I walked by. The knock came again.
     "Why don't you get everyone up, sweetheart?" I said to
him softly. He yawned and stretched and nodded his cute
little red head.
     I opened the door, and there was Vincent with a rather
satisfied look on his face. Alex lay at his feet, tightly
and rather brutally hog-tied, a cum-soaked cloth rag in his
mouth to gag him. I noticed fresh welts and bruises on his
back and thighs. Lots of them. And there was a single red
rose sticking out of his butt.
     Vincent smiled at me. "Alex has a great little ass,
master. And he does scream beautifully."
     "Did he behave himself?"
     "Not at first, but we came to an understanding, didn't
we, boy?"
     He kicked Alex in the ribs. Not a real kick. Just a
soft little touch of his booted foot. Alex moaned softly and
nodded his head.
     "Don't suppose he's for sale?" I saw the wink in
Vincent's eyes. Alex of course did not. He moaned again and
bucked in his tight and merciless bonds.
     "Afraid not," I said, after allowing a bit of silence
to make the boy worry.
     "Well, I had to ask. See you around kid."
     And with that he turned and walked away.
     By now Robert and Sam had made their way toward the
door. Together we lifted Alex off the floor and deposited
the naked boy in the center of the room. He struggled for a
moment, his calculated show of distress. Then he lifted his
head, with some real difficulty, and gave me that look I'd
come to know so well. The one that said, 'I'm done. You can
untie me now.'
     I knelt down and pressed my fingers into the sticky rag
that filled his mouth. It was tied tightly behind his head.
     "Yours or his?" I asked as I wiped the spent cum on his
forehead.
     He jerked sharply and glared at me. "mmmph."
     Reading my thoughts I heard Robert whisper to Michael.
"Bring Master Steven a cane. If you choose one not to my
liking, I will thrash you to a bloody pulp."
     The young man's face paled, and he gazed down at Alex,
lying there bound and momentarily motionless. It was not
difficult to tell what was in his heart, but, as always, he
did as ordered. And as always, I noticed his selection was
rather harsh. A long thick cane with a steel tip. I
wondered. Was it his fear of Robert's threats, or something
else that led him to show those flashes of cruelty whenever
Alex was concerned?
     "Perhaps that one would be a little too effective,
Michael," his master whispered softly.
     Standing as they were behind him, Alex could not see
the evil implement of torture in his dear sweet Michael's
hands.
     "I . . . I'd like to see what it does to him, sir." It
was the first time Mike had ever professed a desire to cause
Alex pain. Alex heard those cold words, uttered by a young
man he deeply loved and admired, and pressed his head into
the antique Persian rug on which he lay.
     Robert looked at me. I nodded. "But Michael must do it
himself."
     "I think that was the idea, Steven."
     Michael stood over the boy and swung the cane a few
times to get the proper mechanics. "Where, sir?" he asked
me.
     Tied as he was, the soles of Alex' feet were vulnerable
and defenseless. Pale and soft. "His feet," I said.
     "Mmmph! Mmmph!" Alex fought desperately to free
himself, only straining his stretched and aching muscles
that much more.
     "Alex."
     He was rubbing his wrists raw.
     "Alex!" I shouted at him, which I rarely ever do. "Be
still!"
     Finally I had to kneel in front of him again, and take
his head between my hands.
     "Look at me."
     He did, with venom in his eyes.
     "You're being punished. I think you know why."
     He closed his eyes in that smug manner thirteen-year-
olds master so well.
     "Look at me."
     He did. Tears were coming now. I reached behind his
head and untied the cloth.
     "Who's sperm is this?" I asked him gently.
     His face flushed with guilt. "It's mine, sir."
     "So you enjoyed yourself then."
     "No, sir." There was no doubting the sincerity of his
denial. "He made me cum, sir."
     "How many times?"
     "Until it started to hurt, sir."
     I stuffed the rag back into the boy's mouth. "Can you
snap your fingers."
     With a frightened whimper he nodded and demonstrated
that he could.
     "Snap them twice if you need to take a break," I told
him. "But we decide when you're finished. This is
punishment, Alex, not play. It's time you learned the
difference."
     He closed his eyes and turned his head away from me.
     "Ten strokes, please," I ordered.
     Michael drew the heavy cane back and brought it down
sharply. It made a low whistle as it cut through the air.
The sound that came when it hit the boy's feet was hard to
describe. Somewhere between a crack and a thud.
      Alex shrieked into his gag and balled his hands into
fists. Already a livid red welt crossed his right foot where
the cane had struck. Michael did it again. Alex howled and
choked back a sob. Then another blow, this one landing on
both feet at once.
     Alex snapped his fingers.
     Michael stopped, but did not put the cane down. We gave
the boy several minutes to recover as we all stood over him.
Sebastian was utterly fascinated and reached his hand out to
touch Alexander's feet. Dr. Collins took his wrist and
gently pulled him away.
     I nodded to Michael and he began again. He was crying,
but he delivered three more strokes with expert precision.
Alex was beside himself.  Mike raised the cane again,
determined to carry out the boy's sentence. Samuel's hand
stopped him.
     "I think he's had enough," he said softly. "Any more,
and nerve damage becomes a possibility. Besides, I have a
better idea." He whispered something to Sebastian and the
redheaded boy quickly scurried off toward the armoire,
returning with five long black feathers, handing one to each
of us with a deliciously evil smile on his face.
     With the gentlest touch, I ran the feather across my
boy's right foot. Alex jerked wildly.
     Receiving encouragement from his master, Sebastian did
the same with the helpless left foot in front of him. Alex
took in a sharp breath and tried to roll onto his side.
Robert's boot between his shoulder blades pinned him down
quickly.
     "Don't move, slave," Robert hissed sharply.
     Sebastian and I continued with the boy's feet. Samuel
and Michael knelt down and worked their feathers up and down
the boy's sides, concentrating on his ribs where he was most
ticklish. Hog-tied and gagged, and pinned by Robert's
pressing weight, Alex had no hope of defending himself
against this assault. He howled and cried and struggled like
a little madman, only to receive further torment for his
efforts.
     We tortured him with the feathers for thirty minutes.
Alex was breathless and in hysterics when we finally
stopped. He whined plaintively when he discovered he was not
about to be untied. We busied ourselves in the little
kitchenette, preparing a late snack. Young Sebastian yawned,
causing us all to do so, but a bit of food and drink would
help restore our energy. I walked over to where Alex lay
moaning quietly to himself. I forced open the boy's clenched
fists and placed a large bowl of popcorn in his bound hands.
     "If you move, or let any spill, we'll tickle you
again."
     Surrounding our living table, we ate and talked, and
Seb even proudly showed us his newest ring. I would learn it
never took much encouragement for that boy to take his pants
off, and they did not go back on. He was adorable in just
his long black T-shirt, sitting beside Alex with his slender
legs folded beneath him, cruelly resting his cold can of
soda between Alex' shoulders.
     Alex jumped when Seb did that, and several pieces of
popcorn left the shaking bowl.
     "He spilled some, sir!" the eleven-year-old was quick
to point out.
     Youthful Michael, not so effected by the late hour,
took the bowl away, grabbed his feather and tormented Alex
with it for another half-hour, even rolling the boy onto his
side and tickling his belly button. Alex had reached the
point where he could almost sense an impending tickle. He
flinched each time, before the feather even touched him, and
sobbed miserably whenever he was given a brief moment to
catch his breath.
     Seb soon joined in, laughing joyously. A little boy's
laugh. It was endearing to hear, and interesting to know it
came at the anguish and misery of another boy not much older
than he was.
     Robert, Sam, and I simply sat back and watched, rather
amazed at how quickly the two young slaves had formed a team
and the sheer delight they both seemed to be taking in the
torture of my Alex.
     Finally, when Alex was showing the first signs of real
distress, they both stopped. They gently rubbed the boy's
aching shoulders. It was a touching scene, and I let it go
for a few minutes.
     "Leave him be," I finally told them.
     Immediately they stood up. The bulge in Michael's jeans
was obvious, and by the uncomfortable way Seb was prancing
around, it was clear his little cock was trying its best to
get hard.
     "Show me, Seb," Sam Collins ordered.
     The eleven-year-old lifted his shirt. Sure enough his
little organ was swollen and straining against the ring that
kept it down between his legs. With a warm smile, the doctor
gestured the boy close.
     "Hold still." And with great care he worked the ring
free of the boy's scrotum. Seb sighed and moaned in delight
as his penis instantly stood straight up, four cute little
inches of boyflesh. Rare was the time, over the next several
days, when Sebastian wasn't walking around proudly sporting
an erection.
     "No touching," Sam warned.
     Sebastian nodded and threw his slender arms around his
master's waist.
     "I remember when you used to get hard like that,
Michael," Robert said with a warm smile.
     "I was never that young, sir," Mike replied, adjusting
the hard cock in his pants.
     "No, I suppose you weren't."
     Over the years I've learned more and more about
Michael, and how horrible his life had been before Robert
took him in at age fifteen. He was not joking about never
being as young as Sebastian, for his childhood had been
filled with nothing but pain and abuse and hardship. 'This
is the childhood I missed out on, right now,' he told me
once during a private moment as he gazed at his master with
loving eyes.
     The two of them embraced, and Robert worked his hands
inside Michael's jeans. "I haven't been taking enough care
of this lately, Mike," he said softly. "I am sorry."
     Care of course likely meant having it whipped or
cruelly milked, anything but what most would call pleasure.
Nevertheless Michael smiled and rested his head on Robert's
shoulder.
     I gazed down at Alex. He was lying still and quiet
again, wiggling his fingers, which were beginning to take on
a rather unhealthy shade. Kneeling down beside him, I kissed
him on the head and finally removed Vincent's rose from his
ass. I slowly untied his bonds.
     "Take it slow, Alex," I told him once I had him freed.
     He straightened his slender limbs carefully, and I
rubbed his hands to get them warmed up again.
     "Stand up."
     Slowly he got to his feet, quickly to discover that
having your soles beaten has certain long-term effects that
are not entirely pleasant. He danced from foot to foot and
his eyes watered. His front was bruised almost as terribly
as his back. A full day of beatings and discipline had taken
a certain toll to be sure. I untied the gag and tossed the
wet cloth aside, drawing him forcefully into a close
embrace. My boy winced and trembled and tried to pull
himself away.
     "He whipped you."
     Alex hissed as I ran my hands over his shoulders and
pressed them firmly into his latest bruises. "Yes, sir."
     "Did you deserve it?"
     "Yes, sir."
     "You misbehaved?"
     He nodded slowly, still shifting his weight from one
foot to another.
     "Tell me."
     He looked me in the eyes for the first time. "I
wouldn't suck his dick, sir."
     "Why not?"
     "I don't love him, sir."
     That was a dagger meant for my heart, a sign I should
have noticed, but it somehow missed, or, more truthfully, I
simply allowed it to.
     "And so he whipped you."
     Again he nodded.
     "And did you suck him then?"
     Choking back a sob he nodded miserably that he had.
Whipped into submission. Something he'd never endured
before.
     Kissing his neck I whispered in his ear. "Did he fuck
you?"
     Silence.
     "I asked you a question, Alex. Did he fuck you?"
     "Yes," he answered, quiet and ashamed.
     "Did you enjoy it?"
     "No."
     I kissed him on the lips, forcing my tongue into his
mouth. He pulled against me for a moment, then relaxed, and
I felt the familiar light and playful touch of his own
tongue dancing with mine. I pushed him away when I felt his
cock hardening against my leg.
     "Bring me your cuffs and harness. And your belt."
     "Yes, sir."
     Alex walked off with an uneven gait, favoring his left
foot, which seemed to have gotten the worst of the cane. He
would not even look at Michael. Cradling everything in his
arms, he returned and lay his gear on the floor in front of
him. I gestured to my companions. All four of us adults
roughly took a slender limb and locked a cuff in place,
clicking the padlocks simultaneously. As a further
humiliation, we made Alex kneel in front of Sebastian, and
we all watched as the younger boy put Alex back into his
harness.
     I put the belt on him myself. "You won't be needing
these for a while," I said, giving his cock and balls a
gentle squeeze before locking them in the metal pod once
more.
     "On your knees, Alex."
     He obeyed, and the five of us quickly surrounded him.
The realization that he was the only one who was naked
struck him instantly. Even Sebastian was as fully dressed as
he ever gets.
     I gazed over at Michael. We had planned all along for
him to start things off and give Alex a glimpse of what the
next five days would hold for him. It was a big step for the
young man, who had once been Alex himself. He was silent for
a moment, staring down at this gentle clever boy he'd
somehow managed to fall in love with. We waited, and finally
Michael broke the silence. Alex would tell me years later,
'Mike became my master that day.' And it was true. None of
us yet saw it, least of all Michael himself, but it was
true.
     "You are our slave for the next five days, Alex. You
will obey any order any of us give you without question. You
will be naked. You will be silent. You will be bound. You
will be tortured. You will crawl everywhere you are told to
go. There will be pain. There will be punishment. You will
not sleep. Now, suck my cock."
     Alex just stared in horrified shock at Michael whom he
so dearly loved. For a moment he looked as if he were about
to cry, but then he crawled forward on his hands and knees,
opened the young man's jeans with shaking fingers, and took
Michael into his mouth.


Chapter 29: Wide Awake

     Alex was on his knees for several hours, servicing each
of us in turn, and then doing it again. Even Sebastian got
his little cock sucked, just once, for the first time in his
young life, providing us with a chorus of high-pitched
squeals and frantic grunts. Soon the little guy was fucking
Alex' face with a look of fierce determination in his eyes.
He didn't know what he was going for, but he knew there had
to be something waiting for him at the end, and he was going
to get it. Sam pulled the boys apart when he thought
Sebastian was getting close. The boy was not permitted to
have an orgasm. The doctor swiftly replaced Sebastian's
throbbing little member with his own, forcing it down
Alexander's throat.
     I was the last to have my cock in his mouth. He could
barely hold himself up, my hands behind his head the only
thing keeping him on his knees. When I was finished, Alex
collapsed on the floor and rolled onto his back, his eyes
fluttering. Cum dribbled from his lips and glistened on his
chest and stomach. I knelt down beside him and sat the boy
up.
     "Hold me," he whispered.
     And I did. He turned his face away. I heard him
sniffling softly.
     "Are you crying?"
     Alex quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
"No."
     "Honey, all you have to do is say one word. Just one."
     "I can't."
     "I know."

     Michael and I were the first to stay up with him while
the others went to bed. Sebastian actually kissed Alex good
night, then with a huge yawn staggered off to Samuel's
waiting arms. They both joined Robert in the bedroom and
closed the door. It was a little after two in the morning,
and I'd be up for another eight hours. Michael looked at me
with tired eyes.
     "Coffee, sir?" he asked quietly.
     "Absolutely."
     He smiled and went off to the little kitchen to get a
pot brewing. I had Alex standing in the corner, his hands
behind his back, his cute little behind on display for me,
and took the solitary moment to examine the schedule Michael
had created for the next five days. He had come up with some
interesting pairings that would surely keep Alex on his
toes, among other things. I confess I felt a little chill
when I saw that Sam and Sebastian would be alone with him on
the second day. Doctors do make the best torturers after
all, and I wondered just what he might have in store for my
boy when left to his own devices. It was Michael's role
throughout the next five days that most caught my attention
though. Bless his gentle heart, he'd arranged everything in
such a way that he'd end up getting almost no sleep himself.
     "This schedule isn't exactly fair to you, Mike," I said
when he returned and handed me a steaming mug. "You're
putting yourself under a lot of pressure."
     Mike gently patted Alex on the rear end, and took of a
sip from his own mug. "If we're going to do this, then I
have to do it to. I want to know what he's feeling . . . and
feel it with him."
     I looked at him in wonder and he returned my gaze with
silent understanding. It was fitting that he and I should be
the ones to see Alex through his first hours. He and I would
always be the ones to see Alex through. I nodded and smiled
at him, and the handsome young man gently took Alexander's
wrists and fastened the clasps on the boy's leather cuffs. I
heard them click.
     He kissed my boy on the back of his neck. "Don't move,
Alex," he said. "Even just a finger, and we'll have to
punish you."
     Standing perfectly still for any length of time is a
lot harder than most people realize. To this day Alex
struggles with it. He struggled that night as well, shifting
on his sore feet. Michael was about to take him over his
knee, but I stopped him.
     "He enjoys that sort of thing too much, Mike," I said.
"What's a little pain to a masochist?"
     The young man laughed. Alex was too exhausted to
bother, but there was that knowing smirk on his lips.
     "Push ups. Fifty of them," I ordered, knowing he hated
them with a passion. "But let's make them a bit more
interesting. Alex, go the armoire and bring me a pair of
nipple clamps."
     "Yes, sir."
     Alex wobbled awkwardly away to carry out his
assignment. I watched him, wondering what he might choose
for himself. He stood in front of the open cabinet for some
time and finally returned with the meanest-looking pair I'd
ever seen. The shiny clamps ended in tiny little metal
teeth. They were meant to bite into the skin. He stood tall
and handed them to me. He was silent, but his eyes were
screaming at me.
     'I can take it. I'll show you. Go on, hurt me, you
bastard!'
     I didn't ask. Michael wisely put his hands on the boy's
shoulders. I ran my hands up and down Alex' chest, twisting
and pulling on his nipples. He moaned softly. I did it fast.
Right, then left. Alex screamed and dropped to his knees.
Michael went down with him, holding him tightly and
caressing his trembling shoulders.
     "That seemed to wake him up," he observed. It was
something Robert would have said.
     Alex was still screaming. "Take 'em off! Take 'em off,
please! Oh, fuck!"
     "They were your choice, baby," I said, stroking his
hair. "Fifty push ups. Now. And twenty more for swearing."
     Every single one of them was complete agony for the
boy. He somehow managed forty-three of them before he fell
over onto his side and curled up into a little ball, kicking
his legs against the pain.
     "You gotta take 'em off," he whimpered.
     "Hold him down, Mike. Please."
     "Yes, sir."
     Alex looked up into Michael's eyes and grew calm. I
helped him lay flat on his back, just the pain from that
simple motion sending tears down his cheeks.
     "Take a deep breath, honey. We'll do this real slow."
     Alex sucked in the air as deeply as he could. Mike did
the same. I slowly released the right clamp, allowing the
blood to return. Letting out an anguished wail, Alex nearly
left the floor.
     "Ready for the other one?" I asked, after giving him a
moment to recover.
     The boy bit his lip and blinked his eyes once, then
took another sharp breath. The second clamp came off with a
piercing howl from Alex' throat and he slumped down again
onto his back, panting wildly. Michael and I both leaned
over him, and we each took a sore swollen nipple into our
mouths. Alex screamed and writhed beneath us as his
sensitive flesh was tormented yet further. I sucked him hard
and bit down. Michael used a lighter be equally devastating
touch. The contrast between the two was driving the poor kid
crazy.
     Alex begged us to stop, his voice squeaking through
sobs and whimpers.
     We kept going without mercy.
     "Snail! Snail!" he cried, barely able to get the words
out of his mouth.
     Alex had never used his slow word before. I sat up and
gently rubbed his chest. Michael followed. I knew it wasn't
really the pain, but the flood of emotions brought on by the
day's events that was overwhelming my gentle boy. Feelings
he just did not want to deal with. Memories perhaps, I
realized, he'd just as soon have forgotten.
     Michael continued tenderly rubbing the boy's chest,
circling his fingers around the boy's navel, as Alex slowly
got control of himself again.  I left them to refill my
coffee.
     "I like your slow word," Michael said. "It's cute. Did
you think of it yourself?"
     "Yes, sir," Alex replied, staring at him deeply.
     Michael touched his hands to the boy's face and the two
of them remained there, silent, motionless, Michael gently
pinning Alex down, Alex not offering the slightest
resistance.
     I knew. I was already dimming the lights when Michael
raised his eyes to me.
     "May I . . .?" he whispered, unable to finish.
     How could I deny them? I took the keys to Alex' belt
and tossed them softly onto the rug beside them. Sitting up
with trembling hands Alex unbuttoned Michael's shirt and
buried himself in the young man's chest. Mike held him close
for a time, then slowly stood and removed his jeans, Alex on
his knees gazing up at him all the while with love and
wonder in his young eyes. My boy then lay back with a soft
moan and ran his hands over his belt, tugging at it for
release.
     "No, baby," Michael said, sliding the key just out of
reach, and pressing himself down on top of his young love,
"not yet."
     I lit a few candles as they lay together on the soft
rug, then stretched myself out on the sofa, my eyes half
closed, watching the beautiful young lovers. They were of an
age, Michael still young enough to be a boy when it suited
him, Alex old enough to be a man. And they were beautiful,
their lean and slender bodies entwined in the flickering
golden light. Alex lay still at first, as Michael slowly
moved his hands up and down the thirteen-year-old's
trembling frame, his touch light but sure, at last forcing
his tongue into the boy's mouth. Alex responded, returning
Michael's affections with needful passion.
     They explored one another gently, kissing and
caressing. Michael reached for the keys, and slowly, even
has he held him, released Alex from his belt. The boy sighed
and shivered when Michael ran his fingers over his cock. It
was as if the young man's touch was electric. Michael's
subtle dominance, and Alex' willing submission were an
arousing sight to witness. He pressed himself firmly against
the boy once more, letting Alex feel his weight, taking the
boy's breath away just for an instant. And then I heard
Michael in his softest voice.
     "Roll over, baby."
     "Yeah," Alex whispered.
     Their coupling was so natural, so perfect. Michael was
slow and gentle, pausing often to kiss Alex on the back of
his neck or nibble sweetly on his ear. They whispered to one
another throughout. I was not close enough to hear their
words, but I could hear Alex' soft moans and quiet whimpers
as Michael took him. There was an undeniable beauty to their
soft rhythm, to their deep breathing, to the sounds of their
lovemaking.
     "Harder," I heard Alex cry out, his voice high and
strained, swept away by emotion.
     Michael obliged, forcing himself into the boy with all
his youthful strength. Alex shouted, then calmed instantly
as Michael continued with long hard thrusts. The young man
pulled out for an instant and smacked the boy's thighs,
already red and bruised from Vincent's less than loving
hands.
     "Aaaahhh."
     "You like that, boy." It was a statement of fact, not a
question.
     "Yes, sir."
     Michael's hands rained down again, harder this time.
Then he stopped, and entered the boy again with a single
deep thrust.
     Alex cried and sobbed, then whispered three words I
knew he'd one day say to someone else. Someone who wasn't
his brother. Someone special. Someone for whom the words
meant a great deal more. "I love you."
     Michael came at that very moment, filling the boy with
his seed. He lowered himself gently, stroking Alex' hair
soaked with sweat, wiping the tears from the boy's eyes with
loving hands, his softening cock still buried inside.
     "Did you cum?" Michael asked.
     "No, sir."
     "Good boy."
     They lay together for the longest time, as the candles
     flickered around them. Sitting there,
watching, I felt such love in my heart for both of them, two
tortured souls who'd found one another.
     I left the sofa and stood near them.
     "May I . . . ?" I asked, repeating Michael's earlier
request for permission.
     The boys, the young men I should say, smiled up at me,
and I laid down beside them. Alex' hazel eyes flashed with
guilt when I gazed upon them. I touched my hand to his
cheek, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
     "Don't feel guilty, Alex. This was meant to happen.
Never feel guilty about loving someone. Ever."
     "Thanks."
     We lay there with Alex snuggling between us until the
sky started to turn purple with the promise of a new day. We
did let him doze a bit, just a few short minutes at a time
before waking him. It was so strange. We were being so
cruel, not letting the boy sleep, and yet it felt so warm
and comfortable, the three of us there together simply
enjoying one another's touch.
     "The guys will be awake soon," I said. "We should get
him cleaned up."
     Michael agreed, and with a firm hand under each arm, we
forced Alex to his feet and removed his leather. He leaned
against me as I took off his collar.
     "Please let me sleep," he whispered.
     "Not yet, Lexi. Now move."
     Together Mike and I dragged the tired boy to the
bathroom. I told him to strip me. He was slow and awkward,
stumbling around with none of his trademark grace.
     "Into the tub," I said, giving his young balls a little
squeeze.
     Poor boy must have turned too quickly. I was just able
to catch him as he staggered. Alex wiggled his way free of
my supportive grip. Just a little annoyed, as thirteen-year-
olds tend to get. He stood in the tub and stared at us
blankly behind drooping eyelids.
     "On your knees."
     He knelt, his hands behind his back.
     "Do you have to piss?" I asked.
     Alex nodded that he did.
     "Then do it."
     Michael and I watched as the boy urinated on himself,
the yellow stream running down his legs and pooling at his
knees, slowly finding its way in tiny rivers toward the
drain. The smell was strong. We joined him in the tub.
Michael forced him to look at us, holding a hand under his
chin. Alex knew what was coming and he closed his eyes
tightly.
     "Open your eyes, Lexi," I said sternly.
     He refused.
     "You'll be punished for that," Michael said softly.
     Alex' hazel eyes were gazing at us a moment later,
begging us not to.
     But we did. We pissed all over him. His shoulders, his
neck, his chest, his cock and balls. Alex was shaking. Mike
and I both had enough left, and somehow we both knew where
we wanted it to go. We forced ourselves to stop, only
temporarily.
     "Open your mouth."
     Alex shook his head.
     Michael grabbed a handful of what little hair the boy
had.
     "Your master gave you an order, Alex," he said with
quiet menace. He was sounding more and more like Robert all
the time.
     Alex slowly opened his mouth. Terror swept across his
sweet face.
     "You don't have to swallow," I told him. "Just let it
run."
     And that it did. It filled his mouth quickly and fell
from the corners, finally rolling in a cascade over his
lower lip. He was close to tears when we'd finally drained
ourselves. Then we presented our cocks to him, soft for the
moment, and shoved them into his mouth. Alex gagged and
tried to pull away. We held him there, both of us with a
firm hand on his shoulders.
     I could see my boy was struggling. Fatigue and fear and
humiliation all assaulting him at once.
     "Relax, honey. Just keep your mouth open. Try to use
your tongue if you can."
     His eyes seemed to focus after that, and his breathing
calmed when he realized we simply wanted our cocks in his
mouth for a while. Soon I did feel his tongue timidly
brushing against it, gradually making me hard. I could feel
Michael's cock swelling as well. Alex moaned and continued
to gag from time to time, but the fear in his eyes was gone,
replaced by that look of pure and total submission I'd come
to know so well. He tried his best to suck us, but two dicks
at once is difficult for anyone, and in spite of his efforts
to prove otherwise, he was still a boy.
     I pulled out first. Michael, having been denied such
pleasure for so long, reluctantly followed. Alex looked up
at us from his knees. He was soaked with piss and sweat and
covered in dried cum, quite a bit of it his own. He was
filthy, the dirt and grime from the hunt darkening his
golden-tanned skin. His eyes lit up in gratitude when he saw
me reach for the shower nozzle. I smiled at him, turning on
the cold water and hitting him full blast.
     Alex shrieked and tried to slide away from us.
     "Keep still!" I shouted as I aimed the nozzle at his
face.
     He sputtered and shivered and smacked his hands against
the tub in protest. Finally he figured out it wouldn't stop
until he behaved, and so with enormous effort, fighting his
body's natural instincts, he held himself still and endured
this newest torture.
     "I think he's clean enough, don't you, Michael?"
     "Maybe a few more minutes, sir," the young man said.
     The daggers Alex shot at him in that moment were
priceless.
     "Don't look at him that way," I said, blasting cold
water into his face once more.
     I saw Alex make a fist, and for a moment I thought . .
. but he didn't. He just lowered his eyes and continued to
shiver miserably.
     Michael warmed up the water at my instruction and the
two of us soaped each other up, leaving a cold and wet Alex
on his knees behind us. I'd seen Michael naked since he was
fifteen years old, I'd quite literally watched him grow into
the young man he is, but until now we'd never really touched
or been this close, not in this way. He stroked my cock
gently as he rinsed the soap off my shoulders. I did the
same for him, feeling his pleasant beautifully shaped organ
twitch and rise at my touch.
     "How long had it been?" I asked.
     "Almost three months, sir," he replied as he reached
his full five inches. Smaller than my Alex, but every bit as
perfect, and every bit as hard. He gazed back at the young
slave as though he was looking through a mirror in time. The
boy hung his head in complete exhaustion. "Alex is the first
person I ever . . ."
     I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "I know. Alex," I
called, holding out my hand. "Come on and get warm,
sweetheart."
     He crawled over to us, and together we raised him to
his feet. He shivered as we held him and soaped his smooth
silken skin front and back, rinsing him slowly, massaging
his aching muscles. With the dirt washed away, I could see
the livid welts and deep bruises the last twenty-four hours
had inflicted. He didn't say a word as Mike and I held him
between us and examined his beaten and battered frame, but
his hazel eyes spoke volumes.
     Alex was tired.