Date: Thu, 15 Apr 2004 12:46:41 -0500
From: Craig <DarkMaster04@webtv.net>
Subject: Steven (chapter two, part two)

This is the second part of chapter two; I decided to post the first
part on its own, because the writing process was taking a bit
longer, and the story was turning out to be much more complex,
than I had planned, so it seemed a bit more palatable to break
this chapter into pieces.

A note:  just because characters in stories -- all stories, not just
mine -- don't necessarily practice safe sex does not mean that we
mere mortals shouldn't.  A condom is just a stupid piece of
rubber, and if you honestly believe that it impedes true sexual
satisfaction, then you're being incredibly foolish, naive, and
dangerous.  Sex is a 100% mental game, which is proven by the
fact that you're reading these stories.  Safe only means boring if
you have no imagination.

You'll recall that we ended in the middle of a flashback that found
our future master, Jon, stepping into the middle of his very first
BDSM experience to offer medical help to the young slave of his
childhood friend, Jason.  So without further ado....


TWO  (part two)


Even though he was sedated, and even though the bit had been
replaced firmly inside his mouth, the boy still howled, still wailed
like an abused puppy as Jon was resetting the dislocated
shoulder.  It took three strong attempts -- during which the boy
was literally shrieking, making inhuman sounds no gag could
quash -- before the paramedic felt the joint's ball pop back
mercifully into place.  The boy's shrill, muffled cries stopped
instantly, reduced to a mewl, and Jon knew it was over.  The two
men sighed heavily, Jason waiting for Jon's assurance.

"You're going to be OK," Jon said softly to the boy, and patted his
head as he watched small tears slide out from underneath the
blindfold, which Jason had insisted remain in place throughout
the procedure.

When Jon had returned from fetching the supplies, he told Jason
that he could only get his hands on a mild sedative -- he didn't
have easy access to anything serious on such short notice.  He
then asked what Jason had in terms of alcohol; a quick search
turned up an old, half-empty Bacardi bottle.  Jon knew how
dangerous it was to mix drugs and drink, and reiterated to Jason
that a joint reduction is usually and best performed in a hospital,
with anesthesia, by trained professionals.  Jason shot him down
immediately, again, and so Jon told him to make sure the kid
took several big slugs of the rum, enough to numb his body a
little.

"Is that safe?" Jason asked.

"Fuck no, it's not safe.  But you're not giving me any other
options."

The men returned to the basement dungeon, Jason carrying the
rum and a glass, and Jon carrying the sling and a clean syringe
filled with sedative.  Inside the playroom, Jake was crying harder
now, and Jon knew that the pain was becoming more intense
now, that the adrenaline rush was fading fast.

Jason knelt before the boy and unfastened the leather cord
behind his head, loosening the bit gag and then removing it from
the kid's mouth.  "Exercise your jaw," he said, voice unyielding.
Jake made several yawn-like movements, and color returned to
his face.  Jason poured a healthy portion of rum into the glass
and held it to Jake's lips.  "Drink," he said.  The boy took a
swallow of the liquid and started to cough, not prepared for the
bitter taste.  "Swallow it, Jake.  It'll help the pain."  Jake's
Adam's apple bobbed a couple of times.  "Good boy."  He offered
the glass again.  "More."  The boy sipped.

Jon watched the whole scene, stunned at how quickly he was
becoming completely comfortable with what was unfolding
before his eyes.  This boy, this child, didn't have a stitch of
clothing on his body (with the exception of the blindfold and the
studded leather dog collar that hugged his neck), and yet it didn't
seem abnormal at all.  It seemed strangely right.  There was no
rational explanation for the fact that he was becoming
increasingly aroused by the sight and by the idea of this boy,
chained to the floor of his friend's basement.

When the boy had downed two glasses of rum, Jon told Jason to
stop.  Jason gave Jake one last gulp and then set the glass on
the floor.  "Should I gag him again?" he asked.

"It's probably best," Jon said.  "It'll help to give him something to
bite down on.  It's going to hurt him pretty bad."

Jason quickly picked up the bit and held it to Jake's lips.  Jon
recognized that it was covered with teeth marks.  It was clear
that Jake had gnawed this thing often.  "Open," he said.  Jake
seemed to hesitate.  "I said, open," Jason repeated, a hint of
anger sliding into his tone.  Jake accepted the gag into his
mouth, biting down with perceptible defiance.  Jason fastened
the leather cord around the child's skull anew, and leaned down
to whisper, in an eerily calm, completely even voice, "You will be
punished for that."  Jon felt chills slice through his body.  It was
all unprecedented and erotic for him, watching the boy nod his
head in acceptance of his master's declaration.

"Are you ready, Jake?" Jason then asked, and the boy nodded
again.  "His name is Master Jon, he's here to help you.  You will
obey his orders, am I clear?"  The boy nodded.  "He tells you to
do something, you do it.  Am I clear?"  The boy nodded.  "He has
a syringe, a sedative for you, to calm you down a bit.  He's going
to inject you, OK?"  The boy nodded.

Jason looked at Jon.  "You're up, buddy.  Tell me what I can do."

"I need him to be completely still.  You'll probably have to hold
him down until I get his arm back into the socket.  Can you do
that?"

"Yes."  He turned to the boy.  "Did you hear him, Jake?  You'd
better not move a centimeter."

Jon walked to them and stooped to his knees, telling Jason to
get a good sandwich grip on the boy's chest and back.  Jon stole
a quick glance at the boy's half-hard penis -- he'd been fighting
the urge from the start and could no longer resist.  He noticed,
for the first time, a shiny stainless steel ring around the boy's
cock and balls and realized that Jason was keeping Jake's
member erect at all times.  Once more, he found the idea
simultaneously disgusting and fascinating.

Jon immediately got an image -- which he also tried
unsuccessfully to repel -- of his own son.  Steve.  Steve
McDermott.  A happy, handsome twelve-year old boy living in
Colorado, drama-free.  He looked back at Jake's face, his cloth-
covered eyes.  This could be my son flashed through Jon's
swirling mind.  Did this boy have parents?  Was he here of his
own will?  Did anybody miss him?  Would this boy's cock ever
know the immeasurable joy of a woman's body, the way his own
did, the way his son's would?

He realized that Jason was watching him, waiting for him to
move.  "Can you hear me, Jake?"  Jon asked, and watched the
boy nod.  "I'm going to sedate you in a second, all right?  That
will help you a little bit, and I'm going to be as easy as I possibly
can be with you, but I won't lie to you.  This is going to hurt,
a hell of a lot.  Just be strong, okay?  You'll do fine.  Just stay
still and be strong.  Don't be afraid to bite down, as hard as you
can.  It'll help with the pain, I promise."  The syringe slid quickly
into the left cheek of Jake's perfect bubble butt; within a couple
of minutes, the boy was visibly calmer, freer, much less tense.

Jon nodded at Jason, who tightened his grip on the boy's upper
body, holding him immobile.  Jon then told Jake to take a deep
breath before taking one himself.  Gingerly, he put a hand on the
boy's wrist and the other on the boy's bicep, and on a silent
three-count, gave the entire arm a forceful forward tug.  Jake
screamed and jerked in spite of himself, but Jason did a good job
of holding him still.  But Jon knew instantly that the joint was
still dislocated; the shoulder and arm remained an almost perfect
right angle.  "Fuck," he said.  Jake's muted cries chilled him to
the bone.  "One more time, Jake.  Hang in there."

One two three.  Another pull.  Another gut-wrenching shriek from
the boy, full of pure raw pain.  "Goddammit!" Jon yelled into the
slightly musty air of the room.  Still out of socket.

He knew the kid was in misery, knew there was nothing he could
do to help him.  "OK, Jake," Jon said.  "You gotta help me here,
bud.  You gotta work with me.  Focus all your attention on your
shoulder.  We can do this."  Jake was making ragged,
unintelligible sounds through his throat.  "We can do this, Jake.
One more time."

One two three.  Jon dug his knees into the floor of the basement,
twisted the boy's arm slightly and gave it the hardest yank yet.
The ball slipped effortlessly into place.  The arm tensed and then
relaxed in the span of a half-second, and the screams stopped.
The severe pain was gone, and the cries became sniffling
whimpers.  "You did it, Jake," Jon said to him.  "You're going to
be OK.  The worst is over."  He let himself fall back off his knees
and take a slow whole breath.


                          * * * * * * *


After Jake had fallen asleep on the floor mat, knocked out from
the sedative and the rum, Jason released the ankle restraints and
carefully lifted his body, then carried him into the small cell and
laid him on his bed.  Jon had outfitted him with the sling to keep
the shoulder in place and as immobile as possible, and had
instructed Jason to keep ice on the injury for the first day.  Jason
made sure the towel-wrapped ice bag was still properly in place,
and then covered Jake's body with the worn blanket.

Jason left a glass of water for the boy on the chest of drawers.
Jon insisted that he ensure that Jake stay hydrated, and believed
that Jake's normal way of drinking --- the water bowl on the floor
--- would be impossible in his condition, so Jason relented.  Jon
further insisted that the boy needed real food for the first few
days, said that Jake's body would be focused on recovering from
its trauma and would need quite a bit of energy.  Jason explained
that Jake was being punished for an earlier bout of disobedience
--- hence the dog food --- but that he would make sure the kid ate
well while he recovered.

Jon suggested once more that Jake should get X-rays and an
informed opinion of the state of his shoulder, and Jason refused,
said the boy would be fine in a few days.  So Jon made him
promise to give Jake ibuprofen tablets when he was in pain, and
to let Jon know if the pain became severe again.  He also warned
Jason to lay off the rough stuff for a while, that Jake's arm
needed plenty of time to recover properly.

Jason locked the door of the jail cell, and then placed the bit gag
in the lavatory for Jake to wash, and returned the blindfold to the
equipment cabinet.  With that, he flipped the light switch, bathing
the basement in total darkness, and locked the dungeon door,
doubly sealing the kid inside.

The men returned to the main part of the house, Jason carrying
the remainder of the rum.  At the kitchen table, he poured it into
two glasses and offered one to Jon.

"Bottoms up," he said quietly.

"Does he always sleep down there?"  Jon asked.

"Mostly, yes.  Sometimes, if he's been really good, I'll let him
sleep with me.  Not very often though.  I don't want him getting
too attached to that.  But if he's due a reward --- and he knows I
firmly believe in a system of punishment and reward ---  then he'll
get a furlough from the basement."

"Are you always so hard on him, man?"

Jason took a drink from his glass.  Tapped his foot nervously.
"Look, I went too far with him tonight, OK?  I know that.
Sometimes I forget that he's human, just like I am.  I will make it
up to him after he's better.  But he also knows his place, Jon.  He
knows what I expect of him, and he knows that when he doesn't
deliver, there are consequences."

"You said earlier that you've hurt him before," Jon said.

"Yeah, I have.  Bruises.  Cuts.  I accidentally broke his right index
and middle fingers a while back.  But nothing like this.  This one
scared me."

"I think he'll be fine, he just needs a little down time."

"Listen... I had no intention of getting you all mixed up in this,
man.  I appreciate your help, more than you know.  I don't know
what I would have done if you hadn't been here.  I probably would
have hurt him even worse.  So thank you."  Jon nodded his head,
said nothing.  "I know you have a million questions.  I suppose I
owe you some answers."

"Who is this kid, Jason?  How old is he?"

"His name is Jake.  He turned fifteen a few months ago.  I've
known him for a couple of years now."

"Oh my God, Jason.  You're fucking a minor?!"

"Jon, don't sit there and judge me, OK?  You could have left
before I ever opened that basement door tonight.  You could
leave now.  Nothing is keeping you here, except your own morbid
curiosity, so don't you dare sit there and judge me.  Got it?"

"Jason--"

"It's just one of those things that is what it is, man.  That's all I
know to say.  He's devoted to me.  And I to him.  It is what it is."

"What it is is fucking illegal, you goddamn well know that!" Jon
yelled.  "You're a lawyer, for God's sake!"

"Jon, he's here by choice, all right?  He came here with me by
choice."

"Chained up in a basement, by choice?!  Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."  Jason finished his drink and slammed the glass
onto the table.  "Dead serious."

"Well this I have to hear."

"I worked in Savannah, Georgia for seven years before I came
back to Shreveport.  Made quite a name for myself there."  He
rose from the table to grab a cold beer.  "Do you have any idea
how difficult it is to be a successful lawyer, and a practicing,
sexually fulfilled gay man in Savannah fucking Georgia?"

"I was afraid to ask.  If you... if you're gay.  I didn't know how."

"Well, I am, Jon.  But you don't have to be.  Being a master is all
about power, ultimately.  It's control."  He popped the tab on the
beer can and took a swig.  "But I'll tell you something you can
bank on:  the sex is hot enough to convert anybody.  I guarantee
it."  Jon felt his dick respond to the thought.  "First time I fucked
him... swear to God, that was it.  I didn't want anything else, man.
He sucks my cock three times as well as any woman has ever
sucked yours, I'd bet my life on it."

"Jason, he's a kid.  You've got a kid eating dog food in an
underground jail cell," Jon said.

"I don't expect you to understand this, Jon.  Really, I don't.  And
I'm telling you, if there had been ANY other way, there's no
chance in hell I'd have brought you here tonight to see this.  And
there's no way I can spin it so that it sounds all neat and pretty.  I
get off on the fact that I own him.  No matter what I'm doing, I'll
get an image of pushing my dick into his sweet tight ass when I
get home, and I'm rock hard for the rest of the goddamned day.  I
get so hard I can't even fucking walk.  And I love it.  I love that he
depends on me, literally.  That I control everything about his life --
when he eats, when he shits, when he comes, when he sees
daylight.  He's MINE.  I own his body.  I own his mind.  It's a
responsibility I take very seriously, too, and I make mistakes, as
you can see.  But he turns me on, Jon.  Jesus, I'm thirty-seven
years old and he gets my dick harder than it ever got when I was
sixteen, I promise."  He could see that Jon wasn't completely
buying the story.  "And listen, don't get clouds in your eyes, my
friend.  Don't go thinking this kid is some innocent little scamp
who got in over his head with the big bad lawyer.  Nothing could
be further from the truth."


                          * * * * * * *


He wasn't even thirteen yet, man, and he was hustling.  Living on
the streets.  Doing anything he could to survive, to make it
another day.  He told me his parents turned he and his older
sister out when he was eleven.  She was seventeen or eighteen, I
think he said, and she ran off with her boyfriend.  He was alone.
Alone and scared.

There are a lot of sick sons of bitches out in the world, a lot of
men who will fuck a little boy and get off on it, and I guess I'm
one of them because that's exactly what I did.  He figured out
early in his life -- too fucking early -- that he could make it with
just his body, that there are men like me in this world.  Men who
love boys.  I always preferred older teenagers myself, high school
boys.  The jocks.  Testosterone just raging, bodies ready for
anything.  There's nothing on the planet like fucking a seventeen
year old football player, especially if he's a virgin, especially if he
puts up a bit of a fight.  God help me, there's nothing hotter.  And
I swear to you, the first night I saw him, out on the street in front
of my apartment building, looking all tough and macho, he
could've passed for sixteen, even though he was rail thin....  I
don't know, maybe I just wanted him to be sixteen so I wouldn't
feel so guilty about what I was doing, even though I was a paying
customer and he was more than willing.

As soon as he took he his shirt off, upstairs in my apartment, it
was clear that he was just a kid.  But by that time I had already
paid him -- paid the little punk three hundred bucks, can you
believe that?  That's the number he gave when I asked him how
much it would cost me for the whole night.  Man, before I even
had the bills out of my wallet, he had my dick in his throat.  A
twelve year old kid was on his knees in front of me, deep
throating my cock!  It was unbelievable, Jon, it was heaven.  You
have no comprehension of what it was like.  He let me come
inside his mouth, two times.  He sucked me off twice without
even flinching.  Incredible, man, just incredible.  Then he had the
gall to ask me if I was up for more, with that indescribable gleam
in his eye, that look of arrogant mischief that he still gets
sometimes when he's in the mood to push my buttons.  I had to
keep reminding myself that he was just a kid, because he spoke
and acted with the poise of an adult.  He had to learn that early,
too, I guess.

So anyway, I told him to get on his goddamned hands and knees
and I'd show him exactly what I was up for.  He literally threw
himself out of his dirty jeans, out of his underwear and socks.  He
literally leapt onto the bed, immediately in position for me, that
small bony ass pointing straight up in the air, right at me.  It had
been over a month since I had fucked anything other than my
hand, and I was so fucking horny, you have no idea.  I was so
ready for something hot and sweaty, something dirty and raw,
and I just shut everything else out of my mind.

My dick popped inside him instantly.  It was still soaked from him
blowing me.  I don't have the biggest dick ever, but I've seen
much smaller ones.  It slid right inside him, as if it was built
specifically to fuck his ass.  If I had stopped for just a second to
really consider what I was doing, it probably would have turned
my stomach.  Fucking some kid in my own bed, I mean, how
sickening is that?  But I wanted it so bad, I just had no control
over it.  He wanted it too.  If he didn't, he put on one hell of a
show.  He was more into it than I was, man, I'm telling you.  It's
the truth.  He was there on his knees, he had his little back
arched, his head was grinding into one of my pillows, and he was
screaming at me, daring me to fuck him harder.  I was already
pounding him, and he was just yelling to go faster, to go harder,
deeper.  He was panting, he was sweating, he was throwing his
ass against my pelvis just as hard as he could.  I had just come
twice in a ten-minute span, so I knew we were both in for a pretty
grueling fuck before I would be able to shoot again, even though I
was rock goddamn hard.  And it hurt, too.  It really did.  In a good
way -- don't get me wrong, it was fucking fantastic -- but it was
painful.  My dick was sensitive anyway from coming, plus the
friction of being inside his tight ass... Jesus, it was something
else, it was like nothing I'd ever experienced in my whole life.
This explosion of pain and pleasure, all in the same instant.  I had
fucked a lot of asses, of all ages, but it was nothing at all like
this.  Motherfucker, it was hot, it was the best money I had ever
spent in my life.

I must have fucked him for a good fifteen minutes, nonstop, hard
as I could, before I finally came.  My skin literally felt like it was
boiling.  I swear there was steam rising off my balls, man, that's
how hot it was.  And they literally ached, too -- my balls, my dick,
the backs of my legs.  He tried to touch me after I pulled out of
him, and I just couldn't stand it.

There was a little puddle of his come on the bedsheet beneath
him, and his little dick was still like a block of wood, so I told him
I wanted to watch him jerk himself off.  Then I propped myself
against the headboard of my bed and watched him rise up to his
knees, thrust his torso toward me, spit in his hand, and pump his
dick, staring right through me the whole time, literally burning his
gaze right into me.  He was good, he already knew how to play
the game, how to fascinate someone and hook them in.  He was
more mature and attentive and adaptable in that one single fuck
than all but a couple of the grown men that I had screwed.  He
had my attention and he knew it.

My dick had been filthy when I pulled it out of his asshole.  I don't
suppose he had ever cleaned himself out.  So after he came that
second time, I told him to follow me into the bathroom.  I pulled
us both into the shower and showed him my cock, and told him to
take a washrag and clean it.  He went to his knees again with the
lathered rag and he did as he was told, he gently scrubbed it
clean.  After he was done, he went like he was going to try to
suck me off again, and I grabbed him by the ears and shook my
head no.  I couldn't have gotten it up again, even if I had wanted
to.  I quickly finished my shower and then told him to take a long
one himself.

I was waiting for him by the sink when he stepped out.  I chucked
him a towel and watched him rub his naked body completely dry.
Then I held up an enema bag, which I had already filled with
warm water, and watched his eyes carefully and asked him if he
knew what it was.  He said no, and so I explained the process to
him.  I told him flat out that he would never see the top of my bed
again if he wasn't going to take care of his asshole, his stock in
trade.  I then told him that we were going to stay in that
bathroom, and I was going to keep giving him enemas until he
was shitting clean water and nothing else.  I could see him
hesitate a little -- he wasn't quite sure about this latest wrinkle
and that's when his childlike demeanor really shone through.  He
acted like he wanted to run, but he could see I was blocking the
door and that there was no way he could get away from me if he
tried it, so he finally just nodded his head and gave me a very
quiet, very calm, "Yes, sir."  Goddamn it, just hearing him mutter
those words... there aren't words for how it felt.  Watching him
show me real fear, for the first time that whole night, and then
hearing him agree to obey me anyway, that was enough to put me
over the edge all over again.

I told him to bend over the tub, and then I nudged the enema
nozzle into his asshole and loosened the clamp, listening intently
to the glug-glug-glug of the warm water as it flowed down the
tube into his butt.  I told him to hold his cheeks shut and keep it
all in -- told him he'd be licking up anything that landed on my
bathroom floor.  He turned his face to me and told me that I
couldn't make him do that, and I said, "Listen to me, you little
punk, I bought you for the night, I can do any goddamn thing I
want to do to you."  He had no response to that, just turned his
face back to the wall until all the water was inside him.  I
removed the nozzle from his clutching hole and told him to stand
up.  "Five minutes," I told him, and heard him literally gasp and
moan.  It was already killing him, I could tell.  The warm water,
the cramps.  Have you ever had an enema?  It hurts at first, but it
ends up feeling really good.  And there's just no substitute for
fucking a clean asshole.  I'm telling you, Jon, there's nothing like
it.

He needed four full enemas before he was clean inside, and he
was very relieved when I told him that I was finally satisfied.  I
then informed him that this would be the procedure from then on,
that he would clean himself inside and out before my dick ever
touched any piece of his body.  He looked right at me and said,
"What makes you think I'm ever going to see you again?"

You know what I told the prick?  I said, "Because I fucked the
shit out of your ass tonight, literally.  And you loved it with every
fiber of your being.  And it'll bring you back.  You'd get on your
hands and knees again right this second if I told you to."

I changed the sheets on my bed then, and told him to get a good
night's sleep, that we'd talk more in the morning.  The kid was
out like a light, man.  He must've been exhausted.  Evidently he
had bounced from shelter to shelter, and stayed wherever he
could in between.  Dumpsters.  Boxes.  A friend's house, every
once in a while, or a john's place, if he lucked out and picked up a
nice guy.  Most guys kicked him out the door without even letting
him get off, and a lot of guys didn't even take him to a home,
they just fucked him in a dark alley, or in the backseat of their car.

The next morning, I washed and dried the clothes he had been
wearing, and made him a big breakfast, every bit of which he
literally inhaled.  Pancakes, bacon, juice, toast, the whole thing.
And he admitted to me that he was only twelve years old --
"thirteen in three weeks," that's what he told me, as if that made
it any better.  Told me his name was Jake, Jake Talbot.  Told me
about his family disowning him.  Asked if I wanted to fuck again.
I turned him down, I was still exhausted and sore from the
workout the night before.  I can still fuck like I did when I was
seventeen, don't get me wrong, but there's a price to pay now when I
overdo it.  My body tells me all about it for a couple of days, it
reads me the riot act.

I had to get ready for work then, so it was time to send him on his
way.  He hadn't gone to school for two years, he told me.  He said
he went to movies during the day, or the local museum.  The
library, sometimes.  Said he really liked to read.

As he was leaving, he asked me when I wanted to get together
again.  I told him -- a little coldly, I'll admit -- that I'd find him
whenever I was ready to ride his ass again.  He tried then to give
me a kiss goodbye, and I turned my head as he moved in.  "You're
just a fucking prick like all the rest of them, I knew it," he told
me, and then slammed the door when he left.

It was out of necessity, it had to be done.  I couldn't have this kid
thinking he was anything other than a nice fuck.  I wasn't looking
for a boyfriend, or even a regular lover, and certainly not a
teenage lover.  I didn't pay for him to get goodbye kisses and
good morning fucks.  I paid for a piece of ass, and I got it.  And I
needed to get that point across from the outset.

Of course, the fuck was intoxicating, man.  It was all I thought of
for a week afterward, my dick moving in and out and in and out of
his talented ass.  He was just... heaven.  I know how wrong it
was, really I do, but I couldn't help it.  It was already done, and I
didn't regret that it happened for a second.  I never claimed to be
a saint, and I'll bet you in a perfect world that no other man with
a working dick would have turned the kid away that night.  Gay or
not, hot sex is hot sex, and he just had that... I don't know, that
aura.  He had the smell of hot sex, from the very beginning.

Anyway....  It was maybe ten days later, and he was waiting at
the door of my building one night, waiting for me to get home.
Told me he wanted another night, told me that he'd never been
with anybody like me.  I asked him how long he'd been hustling.
The kid had been getting fucked by horny, classless men since he
was eleven, Jon.  That's what he told me.  Told me he had no
other choices.  I told him that I wasn't in the mood to fuck him
that night, that I was over it, and he literally dropped to his
knees, right there on the sidewalk, and started begging me to let
him inside.  Begging me to fuck him the way I had fucked him
that first night, that he needed to get off, needed to feel real.
That's what he said, that he wanted to feel real.  I smiled at him
and told him that there would be no money exchanging hands this
time.  He said he didn't care, said all he wanted was me inside
him.  So I told him to follow me upstairs, clean out his hole, and
get himself ready for another tough fuck.

Didn't even let him make it out of the bathroom, either.  I made
him brace himself against the bathroom sink, rubbed a few drops
of lube on my dick, and went for it.  Grabbed him by both
shoulders and told him to hang on.  Gave him a mean fuck.  It
was even better the second time, too, it really was.

Right before I was about to shoot inside him, I grabbed a handful
of his hair and pulled his head toward mine.  "I want you to listen
to me, very carefully," I told him.  "If you EVER call me a fucking
prick again and then slam my door on your way out, I'll make sure
you live to regret it.  Am I clear?"  He moaned and gargled
something out, and I pulled tighter.  "Am I CLEAR?!"  He gave me
a stern "yes sir" and I shoved his head down onto the sink.

Told him, right as I was coming, "I can make your life a living
hell, Jake Talbot, and don't you forget that."


                          * * * * * * *


Jon found the rest of the story to be fairly straightforward:  Jason
and Jake fell into a routine over the next eighteen months,
wherein the boy would come to the apartment on Friday nights,
cleanse himself with the warm water as he was instructed, and
join his older lover in bed.  As they learned better each other's
bodies, the sex got more satisfying and more adventurous.  Jason
slowly began introducing items and ideas to enhance the
experience:  different positions at first, followed by a series of
butt plugs, followed by dildos, followed by handcuffs.  Jason was --
without even completely realizing it at first -- gradually gaining
control over the kid, who was happy to do anything as long as it
meant he could stay in this man's bed for as long as possible.

Then Jason got the job in Shreveport -- a major step forward for
his career, which he had always made his number one priority --
and everything changed instantly.  After an intense Friday night
fuck -- the majority of which Jake spent with ankles and wrists
lashed to the headboard, sucking on a used butt plug while being
ravaged by Jason's biggest dildo yet -- he broke the news to
Jake that he would soon be leaving Savannah for good, and that their
affair, which had been so wrong in so many ways, would be
ending.  Jake was awash in tears before Jason had even finished,
professing that he loved the man, that he wanted to go with him
to Louisiana, that he'd do anything.  Jason told him it wasn't
possible -- that he would be working in the D.A.'s office, that he
fully intended to be the D.A one day, and then mayor if all went
according to his long-percolating plans, and that there was no
way the future mayor could be seen with a teenage hustler.  Jake
told him repeatedly that he loved him, that he'd die without him,
that he needed Jason, always.  Jason refuted all of it, said he
was too fucking young to know about love.  "I know you love me
back," Jake told him, and Jason simply said no.  Told him again
that he wasn't taking a teenager to Shreveport, no matter how
good the sex was.  Told him that they should never have started
this twisted relationship and that it would be the best thing for
both of them to end it.  Jake insisted that he couldn't end it, that
he'd follow Jason to Shreveport or anywhere else he went.
Insisted that he'd do anything -- whatever it took, whatever was necessary --
to stay in his life.

The next morning, after sleeping on it, Jason got up and cooked
them breakfast, just as he had for months.  As they ate, Jason
told him once more that he had no room in his life for a teenage
boyfriend, that there would no reasonable way to explain it to
anyone, and that he had no interest in starting his new life with
old baggage.  Jake pleaded with him to reconsider, and Jason
informed him that there was one option -- there was a single way
that Jake could stay in his life.  Jake gave the man his full
attention, hung on Jason's every word.  Jason looked straight at
him and made the offer, an offer he'd actually been mulling for
weeks:

Jake could become his slave.


                          * * * * * * *


"And so I laid it all out for him, right there at the table," Jason
told Jon, who continued listening, intrigued and stunned by the
story.  "I told him that he would submit to me, completely.  That I
would become his master.  That he would give up his freedom.
That he would exist solely to satisfy me physically.  That I would
find us a house here, with a cellar or something that we could
turn into a dungeon, and that he would live there for the rest of
his life, with me, under my control.  I told him that he would eat
when I wanted him to, drink when I wanted him to, fuck when I
wanted him to... told him all the decisions would be mine.  I had
been thinking about it for a while, the idea had been simmering
for months.  Our relationship had slowly turned completely
authoritarian anyway; I mean, when we were in bed, the kid was
putty in my hands.  And I had always loved stuff like that --
bondage porn, stories, videos.  Loved the idea of whips and gags
and leather.  Loved the idea of owning someone.  And all of a
sudden I had this dumb kid telling me he'd do anything to stay
with me, and I thought about it that whole night.  It seemed crazy
at first, but the longer I considered it, the more possible it
seemed.  I had been reading all kinds of things on the net about
real masters and slaves, I had joined a few online mailing lists, so
I was pretty sure I had a few places to turn to for advice, for help,
for whatever.  All of a sudden, I was completely excited.  Ecstatic
at the thought of owning this boy, of watching him grow up with
me, of training him to be completely subservient, a slave to my
needs.

"So we finished breakfast, and I told him to think hard on it for
the rest of the week, and to have an answer for me when he
came back the following Friday.  Made sure he understood what I
had in mind for him:  if he said yes, he would be mine, no
freedom, no turning back.  There would be no changing his mind.
Outbursts would be punished.  Disobedience would be punished.

"I was sure he'd say no.  I mean, who in their right mind would
agree to something like what I was offering?  It was nuts.  But
then, our entire relationship had been nuts.

"So I spent that whole week on pins and needles, just waiting for
Friday to arrive so that I could hear his answer and move
forward, either way.

"It was finally Friday.  I knocked off early from work, wanted to
be sure I was at the apartment when he got there.  I buzzed him
up when he got there, and let him in when he knocked on the
door, and told him to go clean himself.  I had a nonstop hard-on
that whole fucking day and I was ready to lose it.

"I was laying on the bed when he stepped out of the bathroom.
My cock was ready for him.  Standing straight up.  I told him to
come sit on it and fuck himself with it, as hard as he could.  Told
him I wasn't going to move, that he'd be doing all the work.

"He shot twice before I finally came.  Rode me hard, too.  The kid
literally ground his entire body onto mine.  It was wild.  After I
shot my load, I told him to get off of me and lick his come off of
my chest and stomach.  I had made him do that a couple of times
before, and I knew he hated it -- he didn't like the flavor at all.
But it turned me on and he knew it, and he did it without complaint.

"When he was done, he sat up in bed looking right into my eyes.  I
told him calmly that I was ready to hear his decision.  A big tear
slid down his cheek, and he looked away from me for a second,
and then he turned back and nodded his head.  I asked him if that
meant yes, and he nodded again.  Another couple of tears.  I told
him I wanted to hear him say the words.  He told me he couldn't.
I told him that it didn't count if he didn't tell me the words.  He
was fighting a full-body crying jag by this time, and I reached up
and grabbed his arm.  Told him to say the words, or to get the hell
out of my apartment and never come back.

"He took two really big deep breaths.  Stuffed back the tears.
Looked me square in the eyes.  God, Jon, the words were just
heaven.  The moment was unreal.  So satisfying.  It was
everything I had been dreaming of.

"He said, 'I'll be your slave, sir.'"


NOTE:  I promise we'll return to Steven in the next part.  I know
this portion got a little long and off the beaten path, but I made
the decision to follow the story wherever it wanted to lead me,
and this is the fruit of that journey.  Thanks to you all for hanging
in there with me, and as always, feedback -- positive and negative --
is always welcome: DarkMaster04@webtv.net.  These stories are all for you
guys that read them, so don't be afraid to have opinions about them.