Date: Wed, 3 Sep 2003 12:58:36 -0700 (PDT)
From: Waddie Greywolf <waddiebear@yahoo.com>
Subject: "Ties That Bind Chapter 5"

DISCLAIMER: WARNING!!  This is a work of homoerotic fiction written by an
adult for the purpose of entertainment for other adults.  If you are not
eighteen year of age or you have any problem with this type of literature
then this is a warning to read no further.  The author will not be held
responsible for any reason if you do.  (Codes: M/M BD/SM Master/slave WS
Anal Oral)

Copyright 2003 Waddie Greywolf
Mail to: <waddiebear@yahoo.com>
=====================================================
THE TIES THAT BIND
By Waddie Greywolf


CHAPTER 5 ~ IL SERVO PADRONE E DUO*


Part I ~ The Child Within Us

"There is no coming to consciousness
without pain!"
Carl Jung

I lay in the arms of an angel. Do all angels have wings?  My head was
passing back and forth from one dimension to the other. One,  where
handsome wingless angels with sad violet eyes and donkey dicks dwelled.
They swaggered around wearing side arms and the sweetest bad ass boots
I'd ever had my mouth on.  Then there was another realm where Master
Earl D. Shaw was holding me,  petting me, asking if I was all right,
waving his hand in front of my glazed eyes, snapping his fingers for me to
focus.

"Beau!  Beau!  Can you hear me?"

`He was doing all this,' I thought., `that handsome devil, for me?  How
nice, all that and yet somehow he managed to pinch that poor angel's
cock.'  I could see the headlines: Cop Confiscates  Angels Cock! Film at
eleven. I laughed at my own crazy joke. What's wrong with this picture?
What's going on?  Go ask Alice, I think she'll know.  Rabbits down a
hole.

`My brain,' I thought, `oxygen starved. That's the ticket. Try breathing
you idiot.  This is Los Angeles, live dangerously, take a deep breath.' The
cobwebs began to clear. There was Master Earl looking at me with
concerned  eyes. Could lavender eyes be concerned? Well, they seemed to
be. Nice of him to let me sniff his plastic cod piece or what ever that thing
was he had over my nose.

Goodbye, Buddy.' I spoke through glazed eyes.  I saw a
beautiful man standing there next to the bed waving at me.  I was
talking to him earlier about something.  I couldn't remember.

`I know I'm returning, I'm coming around,  I'll see you again, bye.' He
lifted a hand to wave. One full minute of oxygen, the fog was lifting and
reality came rushing in like a slam dunk.

"What the hell? How'd I get here?" I sat up with a start. Master Earl
removed the oxygen cannula  from my nose.

"Woah, steady,  young man. You've been drifting in and out for an hour
now, Beau. Are you all right?"

Earl D. found a hit of oxygen would clear most people's head in a matter
of minutes but the alpha state is seductive. People want to return. It's like
when you wake up after sleeping really hard and you're still `sleep drunk.'
You want to lay back down and go to sleep again.  He watched me
 carefully and decided to get me up and moving.

"I think I'm all right. What happened? Where's my friend?

"What friend, Beau?"

"Maybe he wasn't real. He was my friend David from Nam. I loved him.
We had the sweetest sex."

"Do you remember our conversation about thirty minutes ago?"

"I remember someone telling me I didn't lose the plug but I didn't believe
them. I don't remember getting to this bed"

"No, you didn't lose the plug. I'll explain the details later let's get you up
and walking." Master Earl said as he picked me up to a standing position.
Damn, he was a strong man but could be so gentle. Fuck! He smelled so
good I wanted to take a bite out of his ass hole so bad my tongue got hard.
My legs were just a bit rubbery but I managed to walk around. Things
were coming back.


"Gee, Master Earl,  that must have been one hell of a fuck. Wish I'd been
there." Officer Earl D. Shaw  threw back his head and roared with
laughter.

`Damn that felt good.' He thought to himself. He hadn't found much to
laugh about since Wes died.

"We haven't gotten to that part, slave-boy." Earl said  pointedly.

"No, well,  from what I can see I'm definitely gonna' enjoy it." Earl
laughed again. He was concerned about me because I seemed to be more
susceptible to the pull of  the alpha state than anyone he'd encountered
before. I was like a man coming down from a three-day drunk.  He'd seen
this sort of thing before but not to this degree. What a change in my
personality. I went from carrying the collected guilt of the world to having
a sense of humor.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Earl had seen the whip work miracles. He was good at what he did
and knew almost to the number, how many strokes of the whip  it would
take any given slave to `cross over;' a term Earl D. made up.  You won't
find it in any medical book but it fairly well describes what they
experienced.

He watched Wes grow from the whip. Wes was deathly afraid of  the
whip. He was physically abused as a child, but Wes insisted  Earl let him
try again and again.  Slowly, Earl D. brought him along. He never went
further than Wes could. He was more concerned for Wes because he was
so small. Wes would always let him know when he could go no further.
They had a signal between them. Earl would stop immediately and praise
Wes for how much further he progressed than last time whether he really
had or not.

Discipline didn't come easy for Wes. It was his idea that Earl begin to
mold him to be the slave he needed. Earl never pushed him to the
dungeon. His promise to obey Earl's order to trust and his acceptance
brought new areas of exploration for Wes. He began to solve the
dichotomy of ideas within S & M sex. How could anything equating the
brutal beatings he received as a boy from his father be sexually
stimulating?

Wes began to separate the violence of the whip and it's symbol of
punishment to the greater idea of a right of passage and an unfailing trust
in his Master. He trusted Earl with his life and Earl returned that trust with
pride and unspoken love for his slave.

Wes's father caught Wes masturbating in the back of the barn one day and
went insane. He grabbed Wes by his little cock and balls and practically
dragged him to the back porch. There was no screen on the porch just flat
boards for a walkway. He grab something as he left the barn with Wes in
tow. Wes was in great pain and screaming loudly.

He was sure his father was going to either pull his cock and balls off or cut
them off. Maybe that would have been better than what his sadistic father
was about to do in the name of teaching the boy God's way.  He held
Wes's penis to a flat board on the porch which came up to about Wes's
waist and with one swift movement drove a sixteen D common nail
through it. Wes screamed and cried.

"Oh, Daddy, Oh, Daddy, please take it out! I'll never do it again, I promise!
It hurts! It HURTS, DADDY!! Oh, God!  Oh, dear God, Daddy it hurts.
Please, Daddy!  Please take it out.  Oh, please, Daddy!  I can't stand it, it
hurts so bad! Oh, God, please, Daddy!  Daddy!  Daddy!  Daddy!  Don't do
this to me, Daddy. I love you, Daddy.  How can you do this to me?  Take
it out, Daddy!"

The son of a demon bitch slapped Wes hard across the face,  as hard as he
could almost knocking the small boy out cold.

"Don't you  call on the Blessed Lord's name again you,.....YOU, LITTLE
HEATHEN PERVERT! Only heathens and queers play with themselves!
Now you think about what you've done for an hour or so."

He left Wes alone with no way to get his little penis off that board. He
stood there, almost in shock, bleeding, looking down at his little boy penis,
his blood running out onto the board,  in the hot Georgia sun.  Wes had
no idea how long he stood there.

Born by chance to a monster and his spineless spouse, the small, beautiful,
hapless child,  a victim of cruel and unusual punishment,  for a normal
human act that was made dirty by the most unholy perversion of self
righteous, backwoods fundamentalism; disorganized religion; Satan's
playground. The Holy Bible becomes an instrument to play any tune the
devil can dance to as well as the angels.  Hallelujah! Praise God and pass
them snakes.

He stood there for two full hours or more before his father returned and
unceremoniously ripped the nail from the board and his little prick. Wes
didn't scream. He had none left in him. His dad didn't bother to sterilize
the wound or bother to bandage the child.  He forbid his mother to care
for him when he came to her for help.

He wanted to die. He lay that night in severe pain in the cold barn. His
father  threw all his clothes from the house into the back yard.  He was
banished to live in the barn. He felt lonely before but this was the end of
the road. He prayed to God to take him to heaven. He didn't want to stay
here any more.

If there was a God, how could he let this happen to this little one Jesus
claimed he loved so well? Wes prayed. It was his only hope. Night after
night the small boy prayed to send an angel to rescue him.  He would be
good. He promised. How long must he suffer his father's sick  torture.

If demons there be, Wes's father was their high priest. He would regularly
go into Wes's room to tuck him in, take his clothes off, crawl in bed with
the boy and bugger him in his little butt. He would leave his son crying and
laugh as he walked  away. Sometimes he'd turn at the door and mockingly
speak to Wes.

"Well, what'ju you `spect?! You wanna' be a queer. Don't blame me
none. That's what you get's for being queer. You get fucked in both your
holes for a real man's pleasure. I'll learn you how to be a good
cocksucker and cornholer.  I'll use you to get's you ready fer when I
take's you's to Macon and sells' yur ass to a real butt fuckin' big queer I
knows. You fucked right good tonight, Boy.  I think's tomorrow yus can
suck me off, queer."

Wes was relegated to the barn. He felt he had no home.  He didn't.
He was very much alone. Wes's mother never came to his defense. She
was deathly afraid of his father. He tried to kill her twice because he
thought she was "a'witchen" and trying to cast a black spell on him
because he caught syphilis fucking a whore over to Waycross.

Hell, he knew'd she wasn't church people when he married her. That's
why the Goddamn boy turned out to be a queer. Weren't his fault.  Wasn't
having no son of his'n bein' no fucking queer.  Get rid of the little bastard.
Get some moneys for him. `Cause once them queers gits a taste of a man's
dick or takes one up the butt, they be queers the rest of their
lives. Can't change `em.

They's like a chicken killin' dog. Can't never get the taste of fresh blood
out they mouths.  Have to kill `em.  No good no more for nuthin.'  Take
`em out and shoot `em; gets  rid of `em. Might'en as well get rid of the kid
as well. He's no damn good to me.  Let him live his life in sin away from
here.

If'n you's right hand offends you, cut it off. See!  Says right there in the
good book. Cast out them demons. He'd keep `em a while longer to train
him to suck and get fucked good by a real man. Get's more money for him
if'n he's trained real good. Wes tried to run away when he was ten but his
father caught him.

"You wanna' be a queer so bad boy I'm a gonna' see to it you gits' yur
wish."

His demon father took Wes and one small suitcase to Macon to a big
queer he knew'd and asked him how much he'd give him for his queer
son. He'd trained him really good to suck and git fucked in his butt so's he
could git a good price for him.

The man happened to be a Master and saw the look in Wes's face, of
terror, anger, fright, hurt, pain, anguish, embarrassment and most of all a
resign that he was worthless. Wes was so humiliated he felt less than
nothing. He tried to be invisible.

Wes happened to look up at the man and saw the face of an angel. He was
older with the lightest powder blue eyes that looked like silent pools. He
had the kindest face Wes ever saw on a big man and he was a very big
man.  He had a full beard and a neatly trimmed mustache.

He reminded Wes of a big, kindly bear he had seen onetime in one of his
cousin's children's book. Wes could imagine this big bear of a man
holding him, keeping him from harm, sitting in his lap, away from this
horrible scene that his father was creating.

This man was a handsome,  well dressed masculine man.  He looked into
Wes's eyes and Wes looked back as if to say I'm yours, do with me as you
will, please take me away from this. The big man's heart grabbed Wes's
soul into his and told him he would be his champion with one swift look.
Then he looked back upon the face of evil. The big man looked at Wes's
father wondering what awful things he'd done to his own child?

"How much you asking for him?" the man ask with cool disdain.

"A hun'nert dollars." Wes's father replied.

"For a scrawny kid like that. Hell, Mister,  I can buy three of `em in
Atlanta for that. Bigger! Well fed! Do a lot more work than this one can."


"Well, what'dya gi' me fur`em"

"Well, he's got a right nice face on `em,  kinda pretty like. I'll give you
thirty dollars for him."

"Forty!"

"Done!" He handed Wes's father the money and gently lifted poor Wes in
his big arms, wiping away the tears, dirt and grime from Wes's little face.

"Don't be afraid,  Son, no harm will come to you. You're safe with me."
Wes threw his tiny arms around the big man's neck, laid his little head on
his chest and began to cry softly. He was crying for gratefulness to his
savior. Maybe God had heard his prayers after all.

An angel came to him the day his dad nailed him to the porch for the
seventh or eighth time and told him someone would come. He would go
with this beautiful man. He didn't care what the future brought. There was
no love from his ineffectual mother after being rejected time and again by
her when his insane father would go nuts.

He certainly wouldn't miss the nocturnal visits to rape him and then call
him queer. The future had to be better or he didn't want to live. He would
rather take a chance on the future. Wes's father's took a parting shot at his
son.

"That big queer owns you now boy. I'll bet his gonna' fuck your little ass
`til `ya walks bowlegged." he walked off laughing and counting his forty
bucks.

The man that bought Wes was Big Jim's brother Walker Johnson. Wes
made a solemn vow never to see his father again. Walker placed his big
hand on the back of Wes's small undernourished head and pull him to his
big chest in an effort to cover the boy's ears.

"Don't listen to him,  Son," he whispered to Wes, "He's a devil. That
won't happen to you. You have my word, by God, that will not happen to
you. You're safe with me and no one will ever hurt you again. Come live
with me and be my son."  Through his tears, Wes shook his little head
affirmative.

Walker gently nuzzled him behind his ear with his full bushy moustache.
At that moment two important things happened.  Wes fell in love for the
first time in is life and in Walker's heart he became Wesley Johnson. Wes
lived with Walker for fourteen years.  Wes fell deeply in love with
Walker; although, Walker never took advantage of Wes. He taught him to
be a man. His own man. He finished high school living with Walker.

Because Wes applied himself and made top grades in high school
Walker wanted to send him to college. Wes was too much in love with
Walker to leave him. Walker became his family and Wes was welcomed
into Walker's big family as one of them.

The small boy suddenly came to dwell in the land of the giants.  His new
dad was big.  His uncle Jim was bigger and their dad was bigger than both
of them.   Wes's new grandmother was an enormous woman; not fat but
huge;  so were Walker's three sister, his aunts and cousins. They came to
adore tiny Wes.  He was like a beautiful toy to them.

To Wes, Walker was more than a champion. He became his father, big
brother, Indian guide, teacher, and mentor.  It never crossed Walker's
mind to take advantage of Wes. To him, Wes became the son he knew
he'd never have. Wes had other dreams. Things were going along fine for
Wes until the day he got the letter from the government.

"Greetings! You are hereby ordered to..."  A  year and a half later found
him in a three foot square bamboo cage being held prisoner by the VC.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

As Wes's trust in Earl grew he knew he could count on him to stop when
he gave the signal. Likewise, the repeated sessions over a period of time
began to imprint on Wes what trust was all about and solidified his
increasing trust in his Master. If he didn't signal, Earl D. would gladly
take him further,  until one night, Wes didn't signal at the point Earl
expected and Earl prepared to take him to the next plateau.

Wes all ready stepped across the threshold. It was not fainting. It was like a
trance, an out of body, experience that fakirs are known to induce before
their performances. It's been compared to the alpha state in bio-feedback.
Sometime,  Earl's partners would remain in the state for several hours and
claim to have unusual experiences.  They would meet strange people,
dead friends, feel the presence of evil, or meet holy people. Most  were
significantly changed by an extended session in Master Earl's dungeon. A
large majority wanted to repeat the experience.

Wes began to understand and enjoy the benefits of the alpha state. He
would beg Earl to take him to the dungeon especially when he was
beginning to have doubts, fears, or insecurities. Straightened him right out,
every time. That was the time Earl could most feel Wes's love for him.
Not from the act, but from the resulting warmth Wes would radiate for
days afterward. It bonded them together to take these trips and Wes was
never happier and more loving than right after a night with his Master in
the dungeon.

Earl would make the sweetest love to him for hours and get some of the
best sex he ever had. He would've never guessed Wes would become such
a sexual athlete.

`Could Wes have sent him Beau?' Earl wondered to himself. Beau seemed
like the salt of the Earth kind of man but some very strange things
happened. Earl never had anyone get all the way through his trip on the
first go. Most dropped out during the first half.

In Earl D.'s eye's Wes could do no wrong and had to be on a first name
basis with the Big Man in heaven. They played a  game,  Earl D. would
grab Wes, hold him tight, shove his big hand down the back of Wes's
pants to rub his little butt to see if it was still tender. Most of the time Earl
made damn sure he kept it that way.

Earl would ask him if he was glad his big, bad ass, Cop Daddy whipped
his little butt.  It would invariably flip a switch in Wes that would radiate
joy.   Wes could truly show his love for Earl D.  He would giggle like a
school boy then speak from his heart.

"Oh, God, yes, Master Earl, thank you!" And, he really meant it.

Earl walked Beau out to the patio deck. It was a warm evening and the
lights of Los Angeles  seemed to be dancing a command performance.

"I think I'm back to normal; thirsty, but normal. Yeah, I'm normal."
Beau's small epiphany didn't pass by Earl D. "Where's that little guy that
was around here a while ago?" Beau asked.

"What little guy, Beau?"

"The small,  buffed, short guy that was in the bedroom a while ago?" Earl
sat quiet for a minute.

"Is this some kind of game, Beau?"

"No, there was a short,  little guy that said goodbye to me when you had
that plastic thing on my nose. Did he leave?  He had a flat top, very
blonde, blue eyes, and had on a beige Eisenhower jacket with a blue and
gold emblem on the pocket.   Boy,  was he buffed out." Beau said with
disarming honesty

"He was a nice guy. He listened to me and I told him things about Nam
I've never told another soul. I feel better. He said I knew him but I didn't.
Said I saved his life, and he was grateful. He told me he loved me, but I
never met him before.." Earl noticed Beau's voice began to take on a flat
effect and the tone lowered.

`Oh, God, he's lapsing back to alpha state.' Earl thought to himself.

"Come on," Earl said, "let's go into the kitchen and I'll get you some cold
water."

Beau felt comfortable not to be encumbered by clothes and sex toys. He
was beginning to have those bizarre coasting images where you're not
quite asleep and not really awake, you're just coasting;  the cousin to a
fevered nightmare.

`Why do we have to, wear anything?' Beau thought. Then the vivid
memory of cleaning Officer Earl's boots slammed into his consciousness.
He breathed in quicky still smelling the wonderful smell of booted leather
on his breath.

`Ah, yes, that's why. Now I remember. So slave-boys can have something
to do with their tongues. Makes sense to me.' he rationalized to himself.

Earl D. got him a glass of water, another, then another.

"You may be a little dehydrated." Earl D. said. They walked back to the
patio and stood for a minute looking at the lights and slowly turned to look
at each other. Beau looked deep into Earl's eyes and spoke in a barely
audible voice.

"Master,  there are other folks here with us on the patio.  One just told me
to say this in just this way..."

"What's that, Son?"

"Thank you, Earl,  for everything."  Beau said flatly with no emotion but a
decided southern lilt to his voice.

"For the water? Oh!...Oh, You mean.... Sorry, Son!" He grabbed his slave,
pulled him to his chest,  and held him tightly. Did the folks tell you to be
disrespectful?" He chided.


"They said this one time only,  you would forgive when you understood
the meaning." Beau said flatly, respectfully. Earl D. looked him in the
eyes and chills began to tap dance on his spine causing his scalp to crawl
in several direction at once.  He felt his forehead join the tingling as the
`meaning' shook him to his core. He threw his handsome head back,
looked at the stars, and groaned deeply.

"Oh, God! Oh,...Oh,  my God!" Was all he could get out. Then closed his
eyes and was silent. He hugged Beau tighter as if he were afraid Beau
would bolt for the door.

"Is there a meaning, Master?" Beau questioned quietly. Earl D., hung his
head, paused to compose himself, then began to speak slowly and
deliberately like the words were being carved out of his soul.

"I had a slave named Wesley. Wes I called him. He was a small man. No,
he was tiny. With the heart of a lion and the attitude of a giant. If he got
angry and pulled himself up to his maximum of four feet  eight, people
shut up and listened. I've seen him back down a man twice his size.  He
was my devoted slave. I loved him dearly.

You described him perfectly a while ago when you ask about the little guy
in the bedroom. I don't keep pictures out so unless Jeb told you about him
you couldn't have known what he looked like, especially his favorite
jacket I still have in the closet." Beau looked at Master Earl with
sympathy in his eyes.

"God, Master Earl, I would never be so cruel to do something like that to
anyone, let alone you. Jeb only told me you lost your slave three years
ago in a plane accident. Nothing more."

"That's all right, Son, I believe you. Some remarkable things have
occurred tonight. When I bought Wes he all ready signed all the usual
Master/slave contracts; however, he held out for one small exception in
the wording. The contracts were written by one of our groups attorneys
giving me full power over him.

Of course, forced slavery in this country is illegal but there are very few
laws that apply to consensual slavery. Attorneys hate it when there's a
change in their contracts. Keep in mind, Wes and I only met a week before
the contract was signed.

He was sold into our family at an early age by his homophobic father.
Paternal revenge for Wes turning out gay. `I'll sell the queer into slavery,'
his old man thought; not knowing  it was probably the best thing he
could've done for Wes.

However, like every thing else in life, shit happens. Wes didn't have an
easy go of it. He was sold or given, Master to Master, `til one day no one
knew where he was or what happened to him. By accident, a straight
friend of Jeb's liked to fuck the whores in Tijuana and was offered
this young gringo man to fuck for twenty pesos.

He thought for twenty pesos a little boy butt might be a nice change from
tuna. He said he started fucking the kid and realized he was white and
probably American. He said he was a damn good fuck and feeling so fine
he paid them extra to fuck him a little longer.

He said that when he went back to get a little more boy butt,  he got an
idea. He thought the boy was too good a fuck not to have been trained.
Rather than enter him slowly he slammed his considerable piece of meat
in him to the hilt. He said he thought he heard the kid say,

"Thank you, Master!"

Then the kid really started giving him a major, good fuck. He bought
another hour with him and slammed in him again to make sure he wasn't
hearing things. Again the kid said,

"Thank you, Master!"

He leaned over him near his ear and spoke softly as he fucked him.

"I'm not a Master, Son,  but my good friend is. Who's boy are you and
why are you here?"

"I can't tell you, Sir. No good would come of it. Just enjoy your fuck, I'll
try to make it as good for you as I can.  Thank you for fucking me so
good."

He said his heart went out to him and he asked his name.

"Wes, Sir."was all he said. He was so good I couldn't hold back and shot a
big load up his ass. When I pulled out of him I was just gonna' wipe my
old dick off and he begged me to let him clean it for me.

"You're the first man who's known how to fuck my ass in the last six
months, Sir."

He proceeded to lick the mess and come off his dick and cleaned him up
good.

"I'm gonna' tell a couple of my friends who are Masters about you.
They'll get you out of here."

"That's all right, Sir." He told him, "I'm here because I deserve to be,
Sir."

He told Wes nobody deserves to be kept chained up for someone
else's profit.  He immediately went to Jeb and his big friend Jim and told
them what he'd found. He asked if they knew a boy named `Wes.'  Jeb
knew him well.

"Hell, said Big Jim, he's my nephew." Jeb nodded his knowledge of Jim
and Wes's relationship;  although at that time Jeb had only met Wes a
couple of times.  Jeb and Jim went down to Tijuana the next day and
found him in the Mexican bordello his friend described.

He was chained to a wooden bench and being viciously fucked six to eight
times a day by any Mexican that had  twenty pesos. Most of the time the
two guards at the place threw a fuck into him before going home.

Through some flim-flam Jeb went in as a customer, as if he was going to
fuck him, insisted on privacy, and closed the door. He didn't want them to
get suspicious so he pulled his dick out and slammed it into Wes. Without
turning around to see who it was,  Wes spoke.

"Thank you, Master Jeb." He recognized the way Jeb's cock felt in him.

"Give me a good fuck, Son, we're here to get you out of this toilet."

"Yes Sir,  Master Jeb. It feels good to have a Master in me again."

Jeb fucked him making loud moaning sounds, talking dirty, and slapping
Wes's ass loud enough to be heard outside. After he finished he went to
the caretaker and bragged about how good the little gringo was. Jeb
speaks Mexican like a native.

Jim came in with a bottle and offered the caretaker a drink. Jeb found out
he was just an employee. Jeb told Jim what a good fuck the boy was and
paid for Jim to use him. They proceeded to get the caretaker drunk and he
finally passed out. Jim went in and cut Wes's chains with a good size pair
of bolt cutters he carried under his jacket. They put him in the back of
Jeb's old pickup, piled ropes, old rubber boots, an old painting tarp on him
and drove back across the border.

On the U.S. side they pulled into a filling station, got Wes from the back
wrapped him in warm blankets and drove back to Los Angeles.  He
never would tell Jeb, Big Jim or me how  he came to be there. He knew
Jeb or his uncle, Big Jim would have silently disposed of the man.

Jeb took him in and nursed him back to health. He gained his weight back
and after about a year Jeb began training him his way. Big Jim worked
him out at a gym three days a week and Jeb tried to teach him to believe in
himself. Jeb gave him faith to learn to trust but most of all he taught him
how to trust in himself.  Jeb put him on the market about eight months
after that.

Say what they will about old Jeb, he knows what he's doing and he
produces the best slaves on the market.  He held an open house so anyone
interested could meet and inspect Wes if they wished. No sex. I didn't go
to the open house and Wes was to be sold two weeks after that.

I was alone and a close friend of mine in the family suggested I buy a
house boy.  He suggested it might be some comfort  to have someone
rattling around the house so it wouldn't seem so empty. Someone to be
there when I came home from work.  A pet, basically.

I called Jeb and made arrangements to meet Wes and take him to dinner. I
didn't bring him to my home because Jeb has strict rules about that sort of
thing. Jeb Henshaw is not a man whose trust you want to break.

Wes was polite, intelligent, reserved but unto himself. Not sullen, just
didn't have much to say. He did ask me one pointed question: If I should
find him worthy of purchase and he did his best to serve me would he be
expected to love me?  I told him, no.  I was honest with him when I told
him my reasons for wanting to purchase a slave.

I needed a domestic slave. I had all the dungeon traffic I needed. I had a
waiting list.  Not because I'm that hot but because I'm a cop.  I found out
he had problems allowing people to get close to him because he had been
abused as a child and rejected so many times. I thought with my shyness
problem and his rejection problems, `What a can of worms.'

On the other hand it could be the best thing for both of us. He'd have
regular duties, his privacy to an extent, and I could have my sex in the
dungeon.  I wasn't expecting him to be so small but he was perfectly
small. Usually men who are small are good looking in a ...well, small man
way. Not Wes.


He looked like a Goddamn fireplug. For a small man he was built like the
proverbial brick outhouse.  He hardly responded to me at all. We had a
pleasant, somewhat quiet dinner but I felt good in his company. I just
assumed he didn't like me.

I took him back to Jeb's after dinner that evening and Jeb walked me to
my truck to feel me out about Wes. Jeb's a business man and wanted to
know if I planned to bid on him. I voiced my concerns, Jeb didn't say
much but thanked me for being honest.

He reassured me that Wes did indeed like me but was afraid to try to
hope for anything he really wanted. He was so used to getting fucked over
he sometimes sabotaged his own best chance for happiness because  he'd
been imprinted he wasn't deserving enough.

I told Jeb I might hurt him if I tried to fuck him. Jeb smiled knowingly and
told me if Wes could take him or Big Jim several times a week, he could
take me. He looked me in the eye.

"Earl D., I'm going to break one of my cardinal rules by telling you
something;  however, every time I break one it costs me money, but this
time it'll be worth it."

He grabbed me by my arm, looked  me dead in the eye.

"Earl D. Shaw, you and this boy belong together. I'm not telling you this
to hustle a sale. Take it as a word to the wise from an old fart whose seen
the best of `em come and go. This slave needs and deserves a good Master
and you're the best person for the job.

You know what I think and feel about you. You're special in my book and
so is this kid. If you're not interested, he will sell anyway and at a good
price. I won't say anymore. Promise me you'll think about it. That's all I
ask."

Jeb and I  have always had a deep respect for each other. Well, it goes a
little deeper than that but I won't go into it right now. Let's just say Jeb
has done me a lot of favors and I've tried to be there when he needed me.
He never abuses friendships so when he asks I'm there. He never is
physical with anyone, only the boys he's training.

I was impressed by his passion and promised him I would think about it,
and I did. I gave it a lot of thought then I put it out of my mind until the
morning of the bidding. One thing Wes said that night kept running
through my mind and I couldn't shake it. When I took him back to Jeb's
as he was getting out of the car he turned to me and asked if he might
speak freely. I told him `yes' and he looked me in the eyes and never
wavered.

"With all due respect, Sir,  I'm not for you. You're a good and decent
man. You will be a wonderful Master to some lucky slave boy.  You
deserve a slave that not only could serve you well but could love you, too.
I'm not capable of that anymore. Please don't tell Master Jeb I told you."

"I give my word, Son." I was stunned. I didn't know what to think. Maybe
this was the sabotage Jeb was talking about. Shoot happiness in the
doorway and you won't have to invite it in. Let's face it if misery is all
you've ever known, happiness to you is going to be, being miserable.

You had to have your bid in by six o'clock three days from that evening. I
thought about it all day while working and decided not to bid. There were
too many variables. On my way home I started thinking about going home
to an empty place and my bike suddenly decided to take the off ramp to
Jeb's place. I made a high-midrange bid and thought it would probably
insure I wouldn't win the bid.

Jeb called me that evening around eight and asked when I might wish to
take possession of my new slave-boy. I found out much later, after Wes
was killed that Jeb had two offers higher than mine. Jeb is a wise and
sometimes mysterious old coot. I told him to have the contracts ready and
I would pick him up the next day after work.

Wes's only hold out in our contract was, 'If I should have reason to speak
to my Master about love we will speak as equals.' Meaning, to drop all
titles of respect and on that topic he could speak his mind without fear of
reprisal. It seemed innocent enough. I said sure.  As it turned out, we
never really talked much about love. He just couldn't bring himself to
speak the words. Earl paused for a moment

When I brought him home I put him in the other bedroom upstairs.  He
seemed fine for a while and then during the night I would be awakened by
a muffled sound of some kind. I silently approached his room and heard
him crying into his pillow like his life was over. This went on night after
night until he would cry himself to sleep. I felt horrible. I didn't know
what to do.

I talked to Jeb about it and he said Wes had some bad dreams but didn't
cry. Jeb said to be stern with him. Not angry or violent. Just stern. Give
him the idea you care enough about his development that you're going to
yank him up by the nape of his neck (figuratively) and damn well see to it
that he follows your orders. That night I stormed into his room and
addressed him in a  loud voice.

"What's the meaning of this, Boy? Crying in my home like I mistreat you?
Like I'm some kind of monster?" Wes's eyes widened, not in fear but
surprise and embarrassment. "I paid good, hard-earned, red-blooded,
American dollars to buy you, Boy. I've never raised my voice to you since
you've been here until now. God knows you've had it rough, Kid, but I
didn't buy you out of pity. It's time you stopped grieving for what might
have been and concentrate on making your future all you can. It's time you
learned to live again and to put your trust in someone.

Well,  now, since I paid the big bucks for your ass to own you, Boy, who
the HELL do you think that's gonna' be, HUH?? I haven't given you many
orders since you been here, haven't had too, you've worked damned hard
taking care of me  but, by God in Heaven, I'm damn sure giving you one
now and you WILL obey! You are ORDERED to TRUST me, slave-boy
and show some faith in me, your Master, until I do something that will
make me unworthy of that trust."

"My daddy use to tell me, `Son, when you meet a man he should
immediately have on deposit with you a trust fund. Now,  he may choose
to withdraw all that trust in one stupid action. Then he has no more credit
with you. Remember it works both ways. If you squander a man's trust in
one action, you may be terribly sorry and apologize for your actions, but
it'll take you a long, long time to build that account up again that
originally was yours, free, for the asking."

"You WILL trust me slave! You GOT THAT?!"

"Yes  Master!"

"That's not GOOD enough,  slave!  Yes, Master,  WHAT?

"Yes, Master I'll try to trust you."

"That's NOT good enough, slave! TRY  HELL!!! You're not stupid, Son!
Don't insult your Master by implying you think he's stupid enough to
accept that lame answer.  That leaves you a convenient out of saying to
yourself, 'Well, I tried!'   That's BULLSHIT!! I won't have it! You GOT
that, Boy?"

"Yes Master, Sir!" I think, at that point, I had his attention.

"You will repeat after me, slave. I WILL TRUST YOU,  MASTER!!"

"I will trust you, Master."

"Now, what do I want to hear from you unprompted by me, Boy?"

"I will trust you,  Master."

"Now,  you try it one more Goddamn  time, slave and I better hear the
fucking ring of truth in your voice!"

"Master Earl,  I promise! I promise, I'll trust you, Sir!"


"So your Master is really sure you understand, this is not a game and you
damn well better understand and obey this order, I will hear it again ,
slave!"  Wes hit his knees in front of me and wrapping his arms around my
legs pressed the side of his face as close to me as he could and said
choking back the tears,

"Oh Master, forgive me! God help me, forgive me! Of course, I'll obey
you! I swear by all that's Holy,  I WILL trust you! I wasn't crying because
you mistreat me! Please, Master, please don't think that! I've never been
treated better in my miserable life. It's,...it's ...just,...."

"Just what,  slave?"

"I don't want to complain, Master" Wes said with voice shaking. He was
scared and I was enjoying my acting debut. It was really hard to be angry
with him. He was so Goddamn cute but I was resolved.

"Complaining  is a hell of a lot better than listening you bawl half the
night. You either tell me what the burr under your saddle is or I'm going
in there, get that wide belt of mine and won't stop whipping you until you
do. You got that, Boy."  Damn I was good. I was getting an erection
talking to him like that. I almost convinced myself.

"Please, Master, don't! I'll tell you. Every night after dinner you go off to
your part of the house and I come in here...and after being with
you,....well,.... I like being around you, Master.  I know I'm a selfish slave,
Master, and don't have the right,...and, I know you could never love
me,...but,....but, I've fallen in love with you, Master.  I just want to be with
you more.   I'm so sorry, Master, I don't deserve to be your slave. I just
get so lonely without you, Master." Then he started sobbing like his little
heart would break.


Well, so much for my acting career.  He  ripped my heart out and handed
it back to me in several pieces. He kept a large chunk to nail to the wall. I
knew how he felt. To tell the truth I was lonely in my part of the house as
well.  I started towards his room many times and stopped.  I was just
trying to give him some privacy. We  both remained frozen and silent for a
few minutes.

"Well, it's time we did something about that, slave boy." Wes had no idea
what that meant and I was enjoying keeping him in suspense. I crawled
into his bed, pulled the sheets down for him to get in bed next to me, and
just patted on the bed for him to join me. The little guy crawled into my
arms, I held him tight and he cried until I thought about restocking the ark.
They were tears of release and I wasn't about to chastise him for that.  I
comforted him and reassured him I wasn't going to sell him.

We would get through this together and added that the trust he was
ordered to have and agreed to give me, would help. That was the first time
we made love. Wes never cried again. He obeyed my order, he trusted me.
He slept in my arms that night and every night there after.

I wondered why he wanted that clause put in the contract when we never
spoke of love. Wes could never bring himself to talk about it. Many times
I saw the frustration on his face when he wanted desperately to tell me and
walked away in anger because he couldn't. He didn't have to tell me, I
knew. I was reserved with my true feelings for him. I didn't want to crowd
him.  When you tell someone you love them, you expect them to say they
love you in return.

Wes was no dummy he could read me like a book and I felt comfortable
with that. He knew I loved him. There could be no doubt in his mind. Wes
worked his butt off to please me and he did. I felt we were bonding
especially after several intense weekend dungeon trips. We were like two
crippled suns spiraling in on each other sharing a black  hole for a crutch.
Love was our crutch that helped two emotionally challenged men find a
middle ground of understanding, patience, and joy in each other.

We were big Dodger fans and I got season tickets every year. We new
most of the team. They called us Mutt and Jeff. Time passed and I found
myself depending more and more on Wes. We both knew we had fallen
hopelessly in love but never expressed it in words. Jeb told me one night
that everyone in our group could tell by the way we looked at each other
and were happy for us. Old Jeb was thrilled."  Unsolicited tears were
running down Earl's cheeks.

"The last words he spoke to me, before he boarded the plane in Los
Angeles was, `Earl, I love you.'  Without the trappings of respect.  It took
him nine years to say that. It was the first time he'd said those words to
anyone other than his savior, Walker Johnson.  Worst of all, for me, it was
the first time I ever told him, `I love you too, Son.'

Now,  I know, after all this time, why he had to have that clause in our
contract. If he ever told me he loved me he didn't want it coming from
him, the  slave. It had to come from Wes, my equal. He knew in his heart
he would always be my slave. I would've never released him from his
bond nor would he want it.

For that one fleeting moment it was the most important thing in his life,  to
be my equal,  to emphasize the importance and meaning of those three
words. He didn't want me to think he was saying it because he was a slave
and might be doing it to manipulate me. I allowed him to be my equal at
that moment and he died my equal.

He's been bothered all this time that if I thought he died my equal that I
wouldn't need him any longer as my slave. That, was the meaning, Beau,
that was the meaning. He carried his need to be my slave, my possession
beyond death's door. If any human could, Wes would.  He needs
resolution. He needs to hear me say that in my heart he will always be my
slave.

Don't you see, Beau? It wasn't your tears tonight.  You may be a sensitive
or have the gift to channel. He's been seeing through your eyes. He saw
how sad I was and wept from your body. The tears that fell on my boots
he loved so well were from your body but  not from you. He was with you
in the chains. No man I've ever put in those chains,  has ever made it
through the first time but you did. It just doesn't happen.

He wanted you to please me and you did.  He wanted us to be together this
evening. From here,  it's up to us. He knew you were a sensitive. He
planned it from our chance meeting at the lake.  You took a huge chance
blurting out to an LAPD officer you'd like to clean his boots. You've even
wondered where that came from.  I would never have potentially
jeopardized my position by saying the blatant things I did to you. When
you said the message a while ago it was with a southern accent. You don't
have an accent. Wes did. Wes needs resolution. You unwittingly helped
him find it."

Earl D.'s heart broke and Beau held him until he recovered. Earl, had not
only found his way to the healing door, he knocked, it was opened, and he
passed through. The eternal `some-one's voices in consort with Wes's
whispered in his ear,"I'm  still your loving slave, I always will be, but
now I need for you to let me go."

Master Earl D. Shaw, Wes's only true owner and Master,  walked out on
the wooden deck to the rail. He placed his hands on the rail and looked out
into the night.

"Goodbye,  my beloved slave." He spoke softly, tears blinding his vision,
"You were my slave, you will always be my slave, there is none other like
you. I will always love you."

Satisfied, the spirit of Wes departed. Suddenly, Earl's  heart felt lighter.
He knew Wes understood, Earl would be okay. The slave had set his
Master free.



Part II ~ Pastoral

"It is not kind of summer,
to be so gentle in it's prime,
my Master comes at sunset
to love me one more time."
Slave's Song ~ W.D. Dux
Posthumous

Master Earl lay across his huge bed with Beau's head resting on his
stomach. The full moon had traveled the night sky to bath them both in
brilliance. They hadn't spoken in a long while.

"Are you with me, slave?" Master Earl asked.

"Yes, Master, are you all right?"

"I've not felt this right in several years."

"How are you feeling, Son?"

"Alive." Beau replied. Master Earl looked at him.

"I'm not going to ask for clarification. I'm learning to just accept what
you say." Earl said softly, meaningfully. "You have a gift, Beau, a
wonderful gift I don't think you're aware of."

"I've been thinking about that, Master, and it's the only logical
explanation. I saw pain in your eyes, twice,  when you took off your sun
glasses, in the kitchen, and the second time my knees gave way. I'm
ordinarily not that emotional but it may explain some other bizarre
happenings to me in Nam and after I got out. It almost seems as if I have a
guardian spirit by my side at all times keeping me out of harms way. It
seems to nudge me in the right direction and slaps me down when I don't
listen.

The most bizarre thing this evening was my eyes wetting your boots. I was
in heaven serving you like that. It was like winning the Kentucky derby.
Every gay mans ultimate fantasy to serve the ultimate authority symbol of
our society. To say nothing of the fact that on the Richter scale of looks
you score a ten plus and I held the winning ticket.

What, on God's green earth would make me cry at a time like that? Even
if I saw pain in someone's eyes I would feel empathy, sympathy for them
but not cry.  I really didn't know you well enough to react that way. I just
knew you probably thought I was a psycho.

I've had a feeling that someone else was around as well as my permanent
protector. Remember when I asked you to put your arms around me? I felt
as if someone else inside me was hugging you. I didn't slip and call you
Master. You told me when you phoned me to call you Officer Earl.

I heard my words  but my brain didn't send the signal. I don't know how
to describe it. You've known me long enough to know I wouldn't presume
to tell a Master, especially one that had done me a big favor, that calling
him Master was for his sake as well.

I don't know a lot about slave etiquette but I would bet that sort of
statement would be frowned upon. If that was Wes talking through me,
then it would have been for your benefit as well. If Wes was the young
buffed out man I talked with,  I understand your pain, more than you
know. He was patient, kind and good to me. He did something no one has
ever done, he listened. In the bedroom as I was coming around he told me
goodbye and said to tell you `Ducksworth'?"

"It was him! I had several nicknames for him. That was my favorite name
for him when we were talking seriously about things. He loved to read
Wordsworth. Sometimes he waddled like a duck to be funny. So I
combined the two.  He wasn't pleased at first but he came to see it as a
sign of the "L" word he avoided at all cost."

"Well, I saw what I saw, Master. I know what I heard. I know what I felt.
He generated a lot of love towards me and took me to visit some
handsome older man.  I laid in his arms and we made love. The man soiled
his bed. I felt like I had known him before.  Sounds crazy, huh?"

"Yesterday, I would have said yes and ran the other way. Tonight opened
my eyes to some things I never thought I would even attempt to
understand." They lay there in silence. "I do know one thing," Master Earl
said, as he rolled over onto his back, his cock hard as a rock stood up like
the main pole on a circus tent. "I'm suddenly horny as hell."

Beau rolled from his side to his back and had no less a boner. Well, okay,
it was a lot less, but it was just as hard.

"Let's not waste these beauties, slave." Master Earl said as he roughly
grabbed Beau's cock." Beau looked at his Master's cock and giggled to
himself. It was either exactly the same size or damn near the giants happy
time ride. Beau moved his hand toward it and stopped.

"May I,  Master?"

"I'd like that." Master Earl shot back. The two men lay there in the
brilliant moon light massaging each other's cocks and enjoying the
moment.

"Beau, I'd like for you, no, let me put it this way. I need you to stay the
rest of the weekend. You may consider yourself under house arrest and, by
God, I have the authority to enforce it!" Earl joked with Beau as he
hugged him tightly. "I have a couple of  friends coming from Palm
Springs for brunch tomorrow morning and would enjoy showing you off."

"I was going to Master Jeb's in the morning but I haven't called to make
definite plans. I can call Greg, my neighbor, to feed Pusslene.  So,  if I'm
under arrest what can I say? You may wish to secure me in leg irons,  cuff
me,  bind me with chains, what ever you have lying around, an old phone
cord perhaps? I've been know to attempt escape, Sir." Beau was
developing a sense of humor.

"How `bout if I nail one foot to the floor,  make you go around in circles
and whistle like a choo-choo? I'll stick my dick up your butt and you can
pull the caboose."

"Does if for me. I'll  be like the little engine that could and pull your
heavy load to the top of the hill."

"Sounds damn good to me, slave." Earl continued, "Since you're new to
the idea of slavery, are you shy about being my slave for the weekend?
Because, you will be nude most of the time, wearing my collar and
probably have your butt plugged."

"If I agree to call you, Master, which I have, then don't I become your
slave?"

"Damn good point, Son, damn good point. I have the feeling that you
would know instinctively how to handle yourself in most situations.
Besides, you're an uncommonly fine looking young man. You rival a
slave I know in Tucson. He and his Master are my close friends.  He was
Wes's closest friend and confidant.  He and his Master are world
champion rodeo cowboys in team roping three years in a row."

"I've heard Master Jeb and Jim compare me to him.  I won't let it go to
my head. "

"Perhaps you should.  I don't offer many compliments.  You're the first
since Wes died."

"You're serious, aren't you, Master Earl."

"Yes, Son, I am."  He replied softly.

"I just hope I can be worthy, untrained and all."

"I plan to make sure you are, slave. I plan to strum you like a banjo."

"Do you take requests, Master?" I laughed. `Where'd that come from?'
Beau thought to himself.

"Not unless you can sing with a plug in your mouth, slave." It was his turn
to laugh. "I  want you to know how good it feels to call you `slave'."

"It's no stretch for me to call you `Master', Sir."

"Good, now lets get our leathers on, get downstairs, so your weekend
Master can tear off a piece of his slave's butt.  Hell, I'll even tear off a
piece for you if you like."

"Could you make it two, Sir?"

"Hungry, Huh? Me, too. Come on, slave-boy. Let's get you fucked!"



End Chapter 5~
The Ties That Bind
Copyright 2003 Waddie Greywolf
Mail to: <waddiebear@yahoo.com>
Visit Web Site: http://www.asstr.org/~Waddie_Greywolf


* Il Servo Padrone e duo (The slave with two masters)