This story is a take-off on one of the first stories posted on SlaveNow, entitled The Graduate by George Edington. It's stayed in my imagination where I've considered how I would adapt and expand upon the scenario.
If you're not an adult, if you're offended by gay sex, and if it's illegal to read an erotic story where you're located, go away now! This fiction story takes place in a world where enslavement - to serve the wealthy, keep the wheels of commerce turning and especially for sexual uses - is legal and commonplace. While there are references at the start of the story to the narrator's growing up years, there is no sex with anyone below the age of 18. For (positive) feedback or thoughts: recbeardedsf at y a h o o dot c o m.
CYRIL'S GRADUATION PRESENT CHAPTER 1
Cyril always wanted to be buddies with me. From early on in elementary school he wanted to hang out with me, wanted to partner with me on school projects and wanted me to visit his house. There were a few problems with this: First, I was a very popular kid, good at sports, with a lot of friends: and second Cyril was a complete wimp, a loser, and a real sissy. But it's the third complication that was the real problem: My dad worked for Cyril's dad.
"Oh isn't it great Wally - Cyril's dad wants you to come over for a playdate!" I heaved a heavy sigh. Didn't my father realize I was too old for "playdates" and didn't he also understand that I oouldn't stand hanging out with Cyril?
"Look, son," he got serious. "Cyril doesn't have your people skills. He doesn't make friends as easily as you do. If all the kids at school really do think you're so cool, wouldn't it be nice to use some of your coolness to help Cyril get more friends?" I couldn't believe how parents could say the dumbest things!
But I came to understand that it wasn't just a matter of being nice to Cyril, just as it wasn't just a matter of Mr. Fife being my dad's boss. Mr. Fife owned Fife Industries and he was the richest man in our county. Everyone said "Yes" to Mr. Fife and smiled a lot in his presence. He could make my dad's life easier or he could make my dad unemployed. So I tried to help out my dad by being nice to Cyril.
Hanging out with Cyril wasn't all so bad. The Fifes lived on a grand estate. There was every toy and game imaginable, land as far as the eye could see, and slaves to serve our every need. And Cyril always seemed to want to please me. "Pick what flavor ice cream sundae you want and a slave will have it for you in under six minutes." What kid wouldn't enjoy that?
But at the same time Cyril was a drip. We had all that land to ride bikes, but he couldn't ride his very fast and wasn't able to take turns or hills very well. He had all those electronic gadgets, but he was a poor sport who wasn't very good at any of the games. And as I grew older there was something else that made me increasingly uncomfortable around Cyril. He had always been a "sissy" but I was starting to reach an age where I understood the implications of that label.
My favorite thing at the estate was to use the heated swimming pools (with waterfalls and waterslides). For years I didn't pay much attention to the fact I was changing clothes and showering with Cyril. But then, one day, I was showering beside him and suddenly was aware of this hungry look on his face and the unmistakable fact that he was excited. I grabbed for my towel and stumbled into my clothes at record speed.
I started making excuses not to swim at the Fife estate. Finally I blurted out to my dad, "Can't you tell that Cyril is a big sissy!" My dad got very stern and lectured me about calling people names (especially people who were related to the owner of the company he worked for). So the next day I was back swimming with Cyril. But this time I wore my swimsuit under my jeans and simply pulled my jeans back on at the end of the visit.
On my following visit, Mr. Fife himself came to the pool to watch us. He took me aside to have a serious chat about the need to completely wash off the pool chemicals in the shower. He said he was worried I might get a skin rash and sue him. He cheerfully called out, "It's especially important to wash off the most tender parts, so be sure to remove your swimsuit when you shower with Cyril." I saw the grin on Cyril's face. Damn, was his father helping out his son's homo lusts?
I wrapped a towel around me before peeling off my swimsuit. I had to remove the towel to shower but I did so with my back turned to Cyril and in less than a minute I had the towel around my middle once more. Undaunted and out of the blue, Cyril asked whether mine got stiff like his did. I just mumbled that I didn't like to talk about things like that and did my best not to look in his direction.
When my dad hit me with the "good news" that I was invited for a sleepover with Cyril I got as serious as I could and told my dad that I wasn't trying to call anyone names but that Cyril was clearly "one of those gays." My dad was flustered and just left without saying a word.
The next night my dad tossed a book on my bed. It was a book he had given me the year before about the changes that happen in a boy's body. He had it open to a certain page that explained it was natural for boys to experiment with each other. It even said mutual masturbation was healthy for boys as they were maturing and developing, and that it shouldn't be considered gay. Before I could respond my dad had left my room. Damn, now my dad also seemed to want to help out Cyril's pervy interest in me. What could I do but prepare for my sleepover at the Fife estate.
I slept over there a total of three weekends. I refused to play strip poker. I refused to play truth or dare. I refused to cooperate when Cyril produced a cloth tape measure. And I refused to answer the extremely intimate questions that Cyril kept asking me. On the third sleepover, Cyril stopped being subtle. He came right out and offered me a blowjob. He tried to talk me into it. I refused and went to sleep with two pairs of underpants under my pajamas.
But then something happened at school that threw everything into disarray. I had never told any of the guys at school that I slept over with Cyril. But apparently Cyril started boasting to the other kids what good friends we were and how I had slept in his room three times so far. I was stunned into silence when Bobby Malone yelled across the schoolyard, "Hey, I hear Cyril's been sucking your dick every weekend!" That was immediately followed by, "Look at Wally's face. Oh man, it's true!"
After that Cyril believed that I was the one who spread the rumor about him being a cocksucker when in fact I had never even told anyone about spending the night. Cyril didn't help the rumors much when he decided to prove them true for a succession of boys at the back of the locker room. It was soon after that Cyril moved to another school two states away. I was told that he had gone to live with his Uncle Nigel who had a big mansion on a lake. Fine. I figured Cyril was out of my life.
At the start of the next summer my dad and I were invited to the Fife estate for a barbecue and a swimming party. It also turned out to be a reunion with Cyril and a chance to meet his uncle. I couldn't believe it but Uncle Nigel was an even bigger sissy than Cyril. When I first met the older man he grinned to his nephew and said, "He's as cute as you said he was." I turned red and spent the rest of the day either in the pool or at my dad's side, seeking safety from being perved on. What I hadn't counted on was that my dad was trying to get in good with Nigel Fife, who was part owner (but a silent partner) in Fife Industries.
I planned all along to change back into my clothes alongside my dad. So when my dad headed for the changing room I followed quickly behind him. But then Nigel and Cyril were right behind us. My dad was a typical guy nearing 40 - he was husky with a hairy body and the start of a gut. Nigel Fife was probably the same age, but trying to look younger with a gym-workout body and too much of a tan. Everyone else in the changing room stripped naked while I put a towel around my waist before peeling off my swimsuit.
Nigel asked my dad "Is there something wrong with the boy that he's so modest?" My dad pulled the towel from me so that I had to walk to the shower exposed to the perving eyes of Cyril and his uncle. My dad was acting casual, but I think he was also kind of uncomfortable with the situation: Cyril's tool was pointing up to his belly and Nigel's kept lengthening as he looked over me and my dad and kept touching himself. But in spite of all that my dad reacted enthusiastically when I was invited to spend two weeks visiting at Nigel's Fife's mansion on the lake. When my dad was out of earshot, Nigel whispered to me, "You'll certainly have a chance to get over your modesty. We don't wear any swimsuits there."
That night marked the biggest and loudest fight I ever had with my dad. I remember screaming at him, "Maybe you just wanna strip me naked and have me delivered to one of those all-gay settlements!" My dad countered with, "And if I lose my job because of pissing off the Fife family, I'd probably have to sell you for enslavement and you'd end up in one of those gay settlements for good!" Oh man! That sure hit me between the eyes.
I guess the kids I was friends with were typical of seventh grade boys in the things we would say to each other. "Hey I hear your dad got a good price and is shipping you off to Eureka!" (Everyone knew that was the independent gay nation formed on the central California coast.) Or "I saw the slave delivery van at your house with a box marked to go to Gaytown" (the Florida all-gay metropolitan area). At one point a bunch of us were mesmerized by stories from Bobby Malone's cousin (his dad was a big-time slave trader) as he told us how much profit his dad made when he found the kind of boy that would appeal to the gays. What kind of boy was that? Bobby's cousin pointed to me: "All-American boy, a cute boyish face on a slim athlete's body." I laughed loudest of all but a chill went through me.
But this argument was the first time my dad had ever used the word "enslavement" when talking about me. That led to a series of nightmares. Well, can you blame me? I was just a few weeks into my teen years and anxious about why I was still bald under my armpits and in my briefs. My nudity in front of the obviously gay Nigel Fife was traumatic enough. Now I found myself waking up in a cold sweat after dreaming about my final article of clothing being tugged down to my feet in front of a crowd of hundreds of sex-crazed lusting Nigel Fifes!
It was obvious I couldn't refuse to go on the visit to the lake. I couldn't talk my father out of sending me. But I also was absolutely determined not to go. How determined? The day before my departure I took a shrimp cocktail out of the refrigerator, kept it outside in the sun all afternoon and then forced myself to eat it. I became so violently ill I was hospitalized for more than a week. Cyril and Nigel visited me in the hospital on their way out of town, but I was too weak to talk.
After that I always made sure my summers were booked with some sort of sports program or classes, which would preclude any chance of my going out of town.
(FOUR-AND-A-HALF YEARS LATER)
I enjoyed my senior year of high school. I was still popular and I knew I was good looking. My hopes for an athletic scholarship were dashed though as I never got much taller than I was at age fourteen, and I topped out at 5'6" and 135 pounds. I occasionally saw Cyril but usually in the company of both of our dads. I did my best to be friendly to him and never mentioned anything from our past.
I found out that Cyril would be going to Bush University the following year. It was my dream to attend that school and I had been accepted. But without a scholarship the fees and tuition would bankrupt my family. I actually tried to drop hints that my dad might enslave one of my younger brothers to pay for my college education, and did so in a light and joking way. My dad stayed just as light and joking when he remarked, "Wally, you're the best looking of my three sons. If I'm going to get a decent price for anyone in this house it would be you." That made me drop the subject fast.
My dad did mention that Mr. Fife had granted some scholarships to the children of favored employees and remarked that I should make a point to visit his office when Mr. Fife was around. I did exactly that after school one day and tried to act surprised that Mr. Fife was in my dad's office. The boss was older than most of my friend's dads. He was a heavyset, gray-haired man in his 50s. He seemed especially pleased to see me that day and extended an invitation to a graduation party he was planning for Cyril the following month. That gave me the ideal chance to mention that I had been accepted to Bush, the same as Cyril. "I'm not sure whether I could go there because of finances. But it sure would be fun to be reunited with good old Cyril at the same school." (I was laying on the lies pretty thick.)
That prompted Mr. Fife to ask my dad whether he could take me along on his shopping trip to help choose Cyril's graduation present. My dad and I were both enthusiastic and I hurried after Mr. Fife. In the elevator the older man looked me over and asked whether I was already 18. My birthday was just the previous week. He nodded and said that slave traders could be fussy about not letting anyone under 18 in their showrooms, and with my short height and boyish looks he just wanted to be sure.
I hadn't realized we would be going to look at slaves. Our family had just one faithful slave, Nippy, who took care of everything around our house. Nippy had been with us since I was a small child, so I'd never had occasion to check the stock in a slave showroom.
Of course we were ushered into the most luxurious private showroom at our local Bodoni & Felch branch. Mr. Fife explained to the unctuous salesman that he wanted a body slave for his son to take away to college, a boy who was smart enough to care for his young master's needs, capable of sexually servicing a male, and nice-looking enough to be a status symbol at the snooty university. Three young hunks were ushered into our presence, each in slave display position: hands behind their heads, legs spread apart, chests out and heads bowed. Their sheer white slave shorts were pushed down revealing their totally shaved cocks, which grew to full erections on a voice command from Mr. Fife. (Apparently being able to get erect on command was part of slave training.)
Mr. Fife first examined a tall, well-built boy with black hair and a deep complexion - likely Latino of some kind. He rubbed the boy's nipples and hefted his balls. Then he ordered the boy to turn and bend over. Mr. Fife shoved his index finger the full distance up the boy's rectum and there was no reaction from the slave. "How long have you been enslaved, boy?" the gruff man asked. The boy respectfully replied that he had been born at a slave breeding facility in Puerto Rico. Mr. Fife turned to the B&F salesman and said, "I don't want any bred slaves." As the Latino boy was led off, the older man turned to me and said, "Those breeding farms turn out hundreds with the same sire. I don't want my son finding that there are four other slaves on his campus identical to his own."
The man was pontificating now. "Plus, there's some fun missing with a bred slave. With a boy who's been enslaved, there's the fun of breaking him in, turning him from free boy to a piece of property to be used." There was something almost frightening about the way the man was talking.
He decided the second slave was too muscular, too much larger than Cyril for his son to use him comfortably. Mr. Fife then turned to me in the most casual way and asked, "Do you have an appreciation for a good piece of slave flesh?"
"Well, sir, I can appreciate a fine slave like I appreciate a fine car. But I couldn't afford either one." I figured that was a safe answer.
Mr. Fife laughed and asked directly, "What I mean is, do you enjoy using a slaveboy's mouth and ass?"
I knew that it was standard for men to use young male slaves for their pleasure. And I knew that society considered it appropriate for a straight man, married, totally heterosexual, to dip his prick into a handsome slaveboy. But I just shrugged my shoulders and said, "I suppose I just can't get over the fact that it's a guy and I'm just not turned on to guys in the least."
The man raised his eyebrows and said, "Well, Cyril has been raised as a proper gentleman. And a proper gentleman appreciates the exquisite pleasures that can be had at the hands and mouth and nether regions of a cute enslaved boy." I accepted his implication that I had not been raised as a proper gentleman, and resisted the temptation to tell him about all the boys at school who had used Cyril's mouth for their own pleasure.
Mr. Fife looked over the third boy and declared him "too willowy." The man turned to me and said, "You know that Cyril has a nasty temper at times?" I remembered that Cyril used to throw tantrums in sixth grade, but was now glad I hadn't had much contact with him during his high school years. Mr. Fife gripped the thin boy's bony ass and said, "Cyril really enjoys working over a slaveboy with a paddle or a strap. This boy would crumble at the first barrage of blows."
While we waited for the next group of slaveboys to be brought in for display, Mr. Fife told me a story about one of his household slaves. "That boy gave an exasperated look in response to one of Cyril's commands. He didn't think Cyril saw it, but he did. Cyril gave one glance to me and I nodded. You see, since all those slaves are my property, he needs to ask my permission before administering any serious punishment. That's why having his own slave will be such a nice thing for my son. But, anyway, Cyril laid into that boy, first with a cane, then with a belt - very impressive patterns across the slave's back and ass and legs. And I can assure you that particular slave now has the most servile and humble attitude around his betters."
I kept my opinions to myself. I had never seen my father administer more than three whacks to our household slave, and they were never very rough. Perhaps Mr. Fife was thinking he knew what was on my mind because he remarked, "You do know that Cyril has been working out with weights for the last few years? He has much more power in his arms and his torso than he did back in seventh grade."
The next group of slaveboys entered and Mr. Fife examined them thoroughly. He dismissed the first for being too old and the second one for being too perfectly handsome. The third boy was Chinese and Mr. Fife seemed pleased with his body. He snapped his fingers and the boy fell to his knees. Then Mr. Fife pulled his already-erect penis out of his expensive pants. I looked away awkwardly. I had no interest in seeing an old man's erection. But I couldn't help looking back when I realized the Chinese boy was deep throating my dad's boss right in front of me.
When he saw me looking, Mr. Fife stopped the pistoning of his hips and asked, "Would you like to have a go at his throat, boy? He's very good." I just shook my head in the negative. The business executive, pulled his still-engorged cock out of the slave's mouth and didn't care that I could see this part of his anatomy as he tucked it back into his pants. "I'm going to save my load in case there's another boy I want to try out."
Mr. Fife kept coming back to the subject of my unwillingness to use a slaveboy's mouth. "This is an erotically charged atmosphere. And the management certainly doesn't mind. They want these boys to get experience sucking cocks." I told him, as nicely as I could, that the very idea of sex with another male was a complete turn-off to me.
In the third group of slaves we saw, Mr. Fife dismissed the first one for being too gay. "I don't want a slave that might fall in love with Cyril." The second slave was sent out because his ass was too flat. The final boy was a redhead, short with a wrestler's build. Once again, Mr. Fife pulled his erection from his suit pants and stuffed it down this slave's throat. This time the man grunted and hunched over the kneeling slave and I knew he was ejaculating. I could see the redheaded boy's neck swallowing and wondered how much the old guy had shot.
Mr. Fife took fact sheets about the Chinese boy and the redhead, but he didn't seem too enthusiastic about either of them. He thanked me for joining him, told me I had brightened up his afternoon, and reminded me to attend Cyril's upcoming graduation party. I asked him what he was going to do about Cyril's graduation present and he got a strange look on his face before he said, "I have some ideas. I'll have to look into some possibilities."
PART TWO COMING SOON