Date: Fri, 18 Sep 2009 23:32:31 +0200
From: "Jeryn@libertysurf.fr" <Jeryn@libertysurf.fr>
Subject: Old Enough To Know Better chapter 1

Victor cursed himself for being such a damn old fool. Now, it was obvious
to him he'd been set up. Why hadn't he seen it coming? Damn it, he was
fifty-eight years old! He'd been playing poker since he was in his teens.
How come Frank had been able to play him up like that?

Frank, now, that guy was something else. When he'd moved into the
neighborhood, he'd seemed like a regular enough kind of guy. Of course, he
was a bachelor, which was kind of strange for a guy in his early thirties.
Well, to be truthful, it used to be strange, but not so much nowadays. The
town had changed, in the last twenty years. It used to be all white working
class people in the area, but then, all kinds of folks had moved in: colored
folks, - Blacks, Hispanics, Asians - but also young artsy types, attracted
by the cheap rents.

Frank seemed a mixture of all those. Obviously, he was of mixed
parentage, although his was kind of hard to determine. He had long jet-
black hair tied in a ponytail, a close-cropped moustache and beard, and
dark skin. He had tattoos and you could see he had muscles under the
loose, always dirty tee-shirts he wore, kind of a working-class biker type.
But you never saw Frank go to work, at least not in the neighboring
factories. He worked at home, if you could call it working. The place he'd
bought was next to a garage -- well, it had been a garage ages ago -- and
Frank had bought it along with the house he lived in, and he'd turned it into
a workshop, where he fashioned strange objects with wood, metal and any
old piece of garbage he could find, or so it seemed. Victor guessed this
was art and Frank must be an artist. But not like any artist he'd ever seen
-- not that he'd ever seen too many.

So there was Frank, a strange mixture of arty and earthy types, who
strangely enough had become quite popular with the regular guys around
the area. And that was because of one other thing he was good at --
playing poker. He had games at his place a couple of times a week and on
weekends. That's how Victor had met him. Victor's neighbor, Sammy, had
introduced them.

Sammy was a big black dude who worked in the same factory as Victor. He
knew full well ol'Vic enjoyed his cards -- they'd had many a game at lunch
break, over the years. Sam, well, he was a funny one too, very street-
wise, always game for a night out - keeping shady company too. But Victor
didn't mind, since Sammy hadn't involved him in anything shady. The card
playing they did was always for fun. But he knew Sammy would play for
money too. Over the years, he'd offered Victor to take him to some of
those games, but the older man had never taken him up on his offer. Until
Frank.

Why had he agreed to go and play at Frank's house? Was it because he
lived so close to his own  place? Because Sam had told him they didn't play
for very high stakes at his poker games? Or because Victor had been
curious to meet that strange guy he'd seen a couple of times in the area?
Or a combination of all of the above? Whatever the reason or reasons,
Victor had broken his self-imposed rule -- no playing for money. That had
gotten him in trouble when he was young. Several times, he'd gotten so
reckless he'd ended up owing people huge amounts of money. To pay up,
he'd had to do things he'd spent decades trying to forget. So when he'd
met Kathleen and decided to marry her, he'd set himself one firm rule, and
that was no more playing for money.

So when he'd started attending Frank's poker games, Victor knew he was
breaking the rule he'd stuck to for so many years -- he was 58, now, and
he'd been married for thirty-five years -- but he consoled himself with the
fact that the stakes he was playing for weren't very high. Sometimes he'd
lose, sometimes he'd win, and all in all, it kind of evened out. In fact, after
a few months, Victor had noticed that he was losing less and less often.
Maybe he was getting the hang of the game at last, he'd thought half
jokingly. Maybe he was ready for Frank's big games.

Coming over at Frank's to play a couple of times a week, Victor and him
they had become buddies of a sort. One day, Frank had mentioned the big
games he was taking part in, downtown.

"Big games?" Victor had said doubtingly. "How big?"

"You never wondered how I got the money to buy this house and the
garage?"  That was typical Frank -- he had a way of making you feel dumb.

"You mean youÉ You got the money that way?"

"Let's say it helpedÉ a lot."

That talk was nearly a year ago, and little by little, the desire had grown in
Victor to play in one of those "big games". Every now and then, he'd talk
to Frank about it, but the younger man wouldn't reveal too much. He'd
hinted that maybe Victor wasn't good enough to play those kinds of
stakes. Or maybe that he wasn't man enough.  Or had he? Victor couldn't
always remember who had brought up the subject of the "big games".
Maybe Sammy did, a couple of times. He must've been interested too.
Maybe he was the one who'd hinted at Victor not having the balls to do it --
also hinting that he, Sammy, had taken the plunge already.

Anyway, the short end of it was that Victor had taken part in a couple of
those games. On the first one, he'd won and that had made him confident --
too confident. Because at the next game, he'd lost. More than he could
afford to. That was bad, but Victor didn't panic -- he had a good  job, his
mortgage was paid off, his oldest son had already graduated college and
the younger one was only one year away from graduation, so it looked as
though he could whether the storm. But then came the news that the
company he worked for was going to start laying off in most of their
factories and -- wouldn't you know it -- two weeks later, he was among
those who got the slip. At 58, there was no chance of him finding another
job that paid as well as the one he had. And what he'd just lost at poker
would just about be covered by his severance pay.

So Victor had panicked. He'd done a very stupid thing -- he had taken part
in another game. He figured this time, he could make up for what he'd lost
during that last game and maybe make a little extra. He wouldn't be so
overconfident, he'd said to himself. It hadn't been easy to convince Frank
to let him have another go.

"If you've just been laid off, how are you going to pay if you lose again?"

"I won't lose," Victor had said in a tone of bravado.

"You think you got the game figured out, huh?"

"Okay, so maybe I got a bit too cocky that last time. I gotta admit you're
good. But just how good remains to be seen."

Frank hadn't taken the bait. He remained very calm. He always remained
very calm. Even when he lost -- which wasn't often -- you'd hardly see him
bat an eyelash.

"You certainly talk a good game. Double or nothing, then? Just between
you and me. If you win, I'll pay off the other guys you owe. How does that
sound?"

"Sounds good to me."

So they'd had their game, just the two of them. At first, it looked good for
Victor. And of course, he got overconfident again. He had really
underestimated Frank. This guy was head and shoulders above any player
he'd ever met. The game had lasted for hours. When it was over, Victor
was completely wiped out. He could barely manage to drive home and slump
into bed.

He woke up late the following morning. His wife, Kathleen, was long gone.
She was a waitress at a local fast-food joint. It didn't pay well but at least,
it had a halfway decent health plan. Victor sat up in bed and stared at the
wall opposite. Now he was in real trouble. He owed Frank so much money
that even if he found a new job, it would take years to pay him off. He
certainly couldn't help his son with his college tuition any longer. His
oldest, Larry, had a good job, but he'd just decided to marry his girlfriend
and their first baby was on the way, so he wouldn't have money to spare
to help out poor ol' dumb Dad. Besides, Victor would never let his son help
him. He had that much of a man left in him. He wouldn't have his family pay
for his mistakes. He wouldn't even tell them.

Now that he no longer had a job to go to, he could do pretty much what he
wanted with his days. He decided to go and see Frank. There was to be
something he could do to get out of debt.

All the way to Frank's place, Victor cursed himself for being such a damn
old fool. Now, it was obvious to him he'd been set up. How come Frank had
been able to play him up like that? And what was it going to take to get
himself out of debt, this time?

Frank was in his workshop, clanging at some piece of red hot metal. He vas
wearing blue jeans and a white vest stained with soot. He had a leather
apron on. He was quite muscular, really, one didn't realize it when seeing
him fully clothed. Victor had long suspected him of being queer, but he
sure didn't look like no faggot.

Frank didn't even turn to him, but he did acknowledge his presence : "Back
already? I'm not having a game tonight, you know."

"Listen, you gotta get me off the hook."

"Can't do that and you know it."

"I'll do anything."

"So what do you want me to tell you to do? Go rob a bank? Go kill
someone?"

"I know it doesn't look good."

"What's wrong with you, man? You think you can get yourself in that kind
of trouble and then talk your way out of it?"

"I'm not trying to get out of paying you. Even If I worked two or three jobs,
it would still take years for me to pay you."

"And you haven't even got one."

"How do you know that?"

"People will talk."

Frank had said that in his usual calm manner, but Victor had thought he'd
heard a note of irony in his tone. How long had he known? Was he already
aware he couldn't pay if he lost when he'd accepted the game? Probably.
Why had he agreed to it, then? What did he want out of him?

"So you can't pay me." Frank said.

"No, I can't."

"And you say you'll do anything. Didn't you?"

"Yes, I did."

Now Frank was looking at him. His skin was glistening with sweat. With his
very black hair, his brown skin, and the light from the forge where he was
shaping the metal bar, all that made him look quite devilish. Victor wasn't
superstitious, but he wondered what he was getting himself into.

"And just what kind of anything were you thinking of?"

Victor said nothing. He was at his wits' end. He looked down, unable to
withstand the staring black eyes.

"Look up. Answer me."

"IÉ I'm sorryÉ" Victor could have cried. He was trapped. He felt
trapped. The worst being that he knew he had trapped himself. There was
a long silence. At least it felt long to Victor.

"Are you really ready for anything?"

Victor looked up. He didn't know what the question entailed, but it sounded
like Frank was giving him a chance. He felt a surge of gratitude.

"YesÉ Yes I amÉ I'll do anything, anything! I'll suck your dick, I'll be your
slaveÉ"

Just when he'd said it, Victor knew that was what Frank wanted. Frank
looked him straight in the eyes. "Now that's an interesting offer. You'd be
my slave?"

"YÉ Yes, I would." There was no turning back. It was the only way out.
Obviously, Frank was a fag and he was interested in what Victor had to
offer.

"You realize it'll take more than a couple of blow jobs to pay off what you
owe me?"

"I do. IÉ I know what I'm doing."

"No you don't. You have absolutely no idea."

Victor shuddered. Was Frank going to back off? He was terrified at the
idea.

"How old are you?" Frank asked all of a sudden.

"Fifty-eight."

"They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks."

"I'm not old."

"You're not exactly young either. If you were a pretty young thing, I could
at least have you turn tricks for cash. You could pay me back that way.
But who'd pay for a fat old fuck-up like you?"

The words stung. Usually, Victor would take no shit from anybody. Words
like these, he would have fought over. But he couldn't. He had to take it.

"So what is it that I'm buying, then? A dog that's not that old? You think
you can learn new tricks, dog?"

"YÉYes, I can."

"Yes SIR!"

"Yes, Sir ! I can learn new tricks, Sir!" This was really humiliating.

"All right, dog. Go stand in a corner with your hands on your head. I've got
a job to finish. I'll take care of you when it's over."

Victor did as he was told. He felt silly. He hadn't done that since he was in
primary school. And here he was, a grown man, a father of two grown
boys, soon to be a grandfather, standing in a corner with his hands on his
head like a disobedient schoolboy. Served him right for being such a damn
old fool!

While Frank was going on with whatever work he'd been busy with, Victor
had plenty of time to reflect. He was relieved, in a way, because it looked
as though he'd be able to pay off his debt after all. But what was he going
to have to do? Frank had mentioned blowjobs, turning tricks. Would he
have to do that? Surely, nobody would be interested in having him blow
them? Frank would have to be content with humiliating him, like he'd
already started to do. And maybe do odd jobs around the house. That he
could do. And take plenty of verbal abuse. At least, nobody would know.

Victor didn't know how long he stood in that corner with his hands on his
head. It felt like hours, but it might have been only thirty or forty minutes.
There was no way of telling. He wasn't in a hurry to find out what Frank
had in store for his "slave".

Finally, it seemed as though the young man was finished with his work.
Victor didn't dare to turn around and take a peek. Frank might see him.
Victor didn't dare displease him. He had to make him feel he was getting
his money's worth.

"All right, dog, come with me."

Victor turned around, too glad to be allowed to move. His arms ached. It
was the second time he'd been called a dog, though, and he didn't like that.

They got out of the workshop and crossed the garden towards the house.
Victor hoped nobody would see him. Silly, really. Who could tell what was
going on?

Frank stopped in front of the door. He turned towards Victor.

"A slave doesn't come in his master's house like that. Strip."

"ErÉ Right here?"

"First, you do not question my orders. You just say "yes, sir" and do
whatever you're told. Otherwise, I'll have to discipline you. Is that clear,
dog?"

"YÉ Yes, sir."

"Now, strip."

"Yes, sir."

Now Victor was really worried somebody might see them. He had to do it
as quickly as possible. Thankfully, this being summer, it could be done
pretty quickly. He took off his tee shirt, his jeans, his sneakers. He felt a
cool breeze on his white flesh. It was damn hot, but Victor shivered.

"W-Where can I leave my stuff, sir?"

"Just leave it down here, next to the door. Come on! Take off your shorts
too!"

"Yes, sir." Please, please, Victor thought, let nobody see him. A fat, older
guy taking his gear off in another man's backyard. How pervy could you
get?

"On your knees," Frank said.

"Yes, sir."

"When we get in the house, I want you to walk on all fours. Is that clear,
dog?"

"Yes, sir." Victor had answered as quickly as he could. He just wanted to
get in the house, where nobody could see him.

Frank opened the door, stepped in. He held the door open.

"Get in and go to the TV room."

Thankfully, Victor knew his way around the place. He'd been there quite a
few times. Whished he hadn't, but it was too late to cry over spilled milk.

"Come over, here, in front of the couch. I need a footstool."

Victor did as he was told. Frank sat down on the couch and put his legs on
his back.

"You see, I can find some use for an old dog slave like you. Now, listen to
me very carefully. You are now my slave. You will come to my place
whenever I tell you to. No excuses. Excuses will be for your wife. Tell her
whatever you want, I don't care. Just be there. Is that clear, dog?"

"YÉYes, sir."

"Now, whenever you are in my house, you'll be naked. You'll dress and
undress outside, doesn't matter what the weather's like. Is that clear,
dog?"

"Yes, sir."

"We'll have to find a proper dog name for you. I'll think about it."

Frank put his legs off.

"Turn around. Spread your cheeks, I wanna see your asshole, dog. C'mon,
show me your dog butt."

Once again, Victor did as he was told. He had to put his head on the floor
to keep his balance, while his hands held his buttcheeks wide open. God,
this was humiliating! He couldn't believe he was doing it.

"Nice little asshole. Looks tight. You ever been fucked in the ass, dog?"

"No, sir."

"Hmm, as I thought. A nice little 58-year-old virgin asshole. I'm going to
enjoy taking your cherry, pops."

Victor gulped. Now he was sure Frank was gay. And he said he was going to
fuck him in the ass. It didn't seem as though he wanted to do it now,
though. There was still time to prepare himself, Victor thought. But how
could any man prepare himself for THAT?

"Get up on your knees. Turn around, face me. Put your arms behind your
head. MmmÉ Not bad, for an old man. Not too flabby. You're not such a
bad piece of slave meat. What do you say to that, dog?"

"Thank you, sir."

"I see you're learning. That's good."

Victor felt oddly flattered. It's true he wasn't in too bad a shape for a
man his age. He had quite a beer belly, and he'd put on fat, but underneath,
he still had some muscle. His hair was grey, now, but he still had all of it.
His bushy moustache was almost white and his abundant body hair was all
white.

"Not a bad piece of equipment either," Frank said, holding Victor's cock
and balls. Victor had never been manhandled like that, not even by his wife.

"You still using it? I mean at home?"

"No, sir. Me and my wife, it's been some years." Why was he telling him
that? He felt as though there was no secret he could keep from Frank.

"Wonder if it still works. C'mon, dog, jerk yourself off!"

Victor began masturbating. He was still kneeling, naked, in front of this
much younger man, and now he was beating his meat because he'd been
ordered to. He could feel his dick getting harder, too. This was so weird,
but he wasn't about to complain. Pretty soon, he felt he was about to
come.

"Stop it!" Frank's voice had barked the order. "Put your hands behind your
back!"

Victor meekly did as he had been ordered.

"Now, listen to me carefully, dog slave. Once again, I'm only going to say it
once. You do not come without asking your master's permission. Is that
clear, dog?"

"Yes, sir."

"So what do you say, dog?"

"P-please, sir, may I come?"

"Lie down on your back. You'd better not stain my carpeting, or I'll have
you lick it clean. Good. Now you may proceed, slave. I want to see you
come."

Victor started to beat himself off again. It felt even better lying flat on
his back. In less than a minute, he'd shot his load. Quite a big one it was,
too. It splashed all over his big hairy chest and belly.

"Now, lick it off" Frank said.

"S-sir?" Victor was still a little dazed.

"You heard me, dog. You may sit down. I want you to lick yourself clean,
like a good dog."

Victor had never done anything like that. Well, after all, it was his own
cum, so it had to be okay, he thought. A bit disgusting, though. Victor had
to repress the urge to throw up when the sticky goo went in his mouth.
After a couple of gulps, he figured the taste wasn't so bad. Sooner than
he thought, he'd licked his chest, belly and fingers clean.

"Good boy," Frank said. "On your knees again, dog. Hands behind your
head. Good. Now tell me, dog: did you enjoy that?"

"Y-yes, sir. Yes I did."

"You better. You never know when you're going to have that kind of
pleasure again. Now, come with me."

Frank got up the couch. Without thinking, Victor started to get up too, but
a quick backwards glance from Frank made him remember -- he had to walk
on all fours.

Frank went back to the door they'd come in. He stopped in front of it.

"On your knees, dog. Assume your position."

Victor knew what he meant, by now. He put his hands behind his head.

"Good dog. Look at me, dog. You're going to go back home now, and do
whatever it is that middle-aged unemployed factory workers do. But you'll
be back. Tonight."

"Sir, my wife, sir?"

"Tell her whatever you want. Tell her I asked you to fill for at a poker
game. It's not really a lie. There will be a poker game tonight, but you
won't be playing."

A look of fear must have appeared in Victor's eyes for all of a sudden,
Frank's voice became reassuring.

"Don't be afraid. Nobody will see you. Nobody knows you're my slave. It's
between you and me. Now, be off. I want you back at 8 sharp."

Frank opened the door and Victor crawled out, still dazed. As quickly as he
could, he put on his discarded clothes and left.