- The Slave Market
I had spies all around the Shaft that night. No one was going to cross a line with 10 that I didn't want crossed. Not even Jersey Tony, who came around and took its ass several times over the course of the evening, twice with its nipples clamped tight. He liked to hear the slave crying while he was fucking it. He fucked face to face with the sub's legs bent back so he could watch the tears flow, claimed that was the way sluts deserved to be get fucked.
I'm sure that as long as he lives, 10 will never forget what it felt like to get fucked by that Wop's fat New Jersy dick while having to smell all the garlic on his breath. The boy has always told me that the garlic was the worst part of it. I used it to give me leverage over the faggot when we disagreed about something: it was either gonna happy my way or I was gonna bring the boy to Jersey and dump him naked with hands bound behind its back into some leather bar in the Italian section of Bayonne.
The only time I stepped in was when I took its nipples off-line for the night. Enough was enough. Like I said, this place wasn't known for its antiseptic atmosphere. The last thing I wanted was to have the kid get infected with something. You might be wondering how I prevented anyone else from touching them, I'm sure. Use your imagination and some electrical tape. Besides that, I outright ordered the brat to call RED whenever anyone reached for them. Word got around quickly enough.
Eventually I had the boy chained on display in the room made up like a slave market. It was a clever set-up. Above each "boy for sale" was a list of major turn-ons and hard limits for each. Nipples and electro were the limits while spit and spank were listed as turn-ons. A couple of the boys on display were barefoot, but I already told you how I didn't like that. 10 had its feet in boots especially made for comfort. I don't fuck around with stuff like that. I mean, I have no objection to 10 being made uncomfortable, but when it comes to its hands and feet I draw the line.
Don't forget that a lot of things have evolved between us over the years, especially when I got out of college and got the boy a job as a janitor in the building where I had my first job. But that didn't last long. 10 got interested in one of the guys who worked the garage and made its intentions known. Big mistake. The guy and a couple of his buddies grabbed the kid after work one night, bound its eyes and arms with electric tape then took it to some sleazy apartment, gang-fucked it, pounded the shit out of it then dumped it still bound in a near-by park after it passed out.
It was an important lesson to learn but horrible way to have to learn it. It needed years of counseling after that, needless to say. My Uncle Harry—remember him?—knew a guy who knew a guy, a therapist who worked mainly with gay men and who also happened to be a Dom. I actually got to meet him a couple years after 10 finished with him. Nice guy. Awesome Dom. We had some good chats ourselves over time and I learned a lot from him, especially about how to set boundaries and limits for myself as well as for the boys I played with over the years. . One of the things I liked about him was that he never questioned how 10 belonged to me but was still out there whoring around like a free agent.
Oops. Got off track. Back to the Shaft the night Tony got to fuck my boy and choke it to death with his bad breath. The hottest part of the night happened in the slave market. 10 had gotten good and tired of whoring around and had come to me and curled up at my feet for a while. By that time, it had acquired the proper habits of mind that all bdsm slaveboys have to practice: never at any time cruise aggressively. Slaves don't choose Masters; Masters take slaves. Actually, 10 had learned its lesson well after that fiasco when it got worked over. We had a couple of serious chats about that and I did something I usually didn't do and that was I laid down the law.
I made it grovel at my feet not in my bedroom but in my office. This was serious business between a slave and the most important Person in its life. I kept it down there for a good long time, ordering it to sink down as deep as it could into sub space. Then I spoke slowly and in my "hypnotic" voice, the voice I always used when I wanted to plant something deep within the boy's mind. I ordered my little buddy to start eating my feet and to listen carefully to every word I said.
"Stop assessing the men you see as possible sex objects. The only sex object is you—an owned slave sent out by its Master for additional training and discipline. Keep your fucking eyes down at all times unless ordered to look elsewhere. It doesn't matter what a Dom or Master looks like. The only thing that matters is whether or not the Superior is able to connect with your inner slave, and ultimately, on whether or not I approve of the Man who wants you. You don't pick, Murph. You never have, actually. You get taken. Chosen. Tried out. Handled. Tested by a man who expresses some interest. You are always subservient and you have no right to size anyone up because everyone is greater than you. Get this through your head and into your sense of what you are."
10 keeps telling me that I should write a book because I have the best insight into what it takes to claim a slave like him. Maybe someday. When I'm a lot older. Right now I want to live it, not philosophize about it. The only one I'm interested in fully training is this buddy I've had since we were horny teens together, him horny for my dick and me horny for his mouth. Shit, by the time we were in eleventh grade the kid was sleeping over my place almost every night licking me clean all over before I'd allow it to curl up in my arms and fall asleep. Oh wait: not my asshole. Didn't get into that until I was in college. It happened to me for the first time at some sleazy party and I really enjoyed it so after that I started slowly getting Murph ready to service me that way as well. Very slowly, and with a great deal of babying and coaxing.
As usual, I got the kid ready but never gave the command. As with a couple other things as well, my style was to get the kid ready and then wait until the urge to do me that way got so strong that it started begging for permission to do it to me.
I'd never let 10 live that down, of course. "You are such a desperate pig when it comes to me that you actually started begging me to let you eat my asshole and I kept you begging for a good long time before I let you do it. I wanted you to be obsessed with cleaning my asshole for me so much that you would even to do it if I wasn't clean. ---not that I ever let that happen, mind you. I have my standards, you know.
So anyway, the slave market room is really nice. Clean. Carpeted. Footgear had to be cleaned before entering the room. It actually turned out to be so nice that when I noticed that Murph was the only boy not barefoot, I had it take off the boots as well and stand there like the other slaves on display. Or kneel, or squat, whatever the men inspecting it wanted it to do. Of course, me being the control freak that I am, I had one of my friends planning to put 10 through its paces, acting like a very rich, very willing, and very horny Master in search of a new boy to clean his house and serve him in bed.
None of the potential Masters were shy when it came to "inspecting" the boys for sale, all of whom were chained in place in one way or another. (Just remember that this was all completely consensual.) For a while I had 10's collar chained to the ground in such a way that it couldn't stand up straight. I knew from experience that 10 get's quickly into slave space when it's down kneeling or on all fours. So since all this was happening at the Shaft where as much sex as possible was the preferred behavior. Things would happen at this slave market that normally would only take place after the particular slave had been bought and paid for.
Not here. Those five boys were kept very busy by the men who took an interest in them. Both holes, and a couple of them were also tested to see how much pain they would handle. And of course while all this was going on, the Men and boys had every possible opportunity to get to know one another better and perhaps even to arrange to meet some other time in private.
Me? I just watched. I didn't have to be protective; 10's hard limits were clearly posted. No. I was able to take my pleasure watching other Doms, Alphas and potential Masters make use of the boy. I've always been very turned on watching 10 being used by others, tested, trained and even disciplined. I also knew that 10 got its own perverse pleasure out of knowing that I was watching. As much as possible, we created the scenario where 10 really was a captive slave put out at a public auction, having absolutely no say over who would actually buy it as a possession, then tell it what its life would be like under its new Master. We always pretended these were sales that would last for a good long time even though they were actually only for one night—that is, unless Master and slave both agreed to extend the arrangement. From time to time, an unattached and needy slaveboy would end up in permanent bondage to the Master who "purchased" it that night. (All fees were donated to a gay charity).
As you might have picked up by now, Murph and I were experts as creating exotic fantasies and then immersing ourselves so deeply in our own fantasies that we actually got to experience living within it as if it were real. That's what was going on here. Until I got interrupted and had to slip back into "reality' for a moment.
It was Tony. I have to give the credit where credit is due, though. He actually came to me to let me know he was interested in buying the slave, whatever it would take, to have some time to break it in the way he would like. I hit reality very quickly and gave him a good dose of it at the same time. "Forget it, Tony. You fucked 10 several times tonight. I think that's enough. Move on. Maybe one of the other boys being "offered" would benefit from the type of things you like doing the most. Sample some of our other submissive New York boys while you're over here. Have a good time, but not with 10. Sorry."
Actually I wasn't sorry at all. I was just being polite. Last thing I want is for word to get around New Jersey that I'd disrespected one of their prominent sadists. But I'm sure you could see that coming. So at this point we can say goodbye to Tony. For good. It was just a walk-on part, and now it's run its course.
So back to the market. YES!! It's time. My buddy Rocket (yeah, that's his name) is approaching 10.
"I want to see what your eyes look like, boy. Display them for me." Right away, 10 knows this is something I set up. The emphasis on eyes gave it away. 10 raises his eyes and makes them big the way I trained it to do. Rocket holds them for a while. "I'm imagining what these lovely eyes look like when they have tears in them. New fresh slaveboy tears."
10 lowers its eyes again. Rocket doesn't make a big thing out of it. "Listen, faggot. You know damn well that those eyes will be spilling their tears copiously before this night is over. That's the best part of owning faggots like you—faggots who can handle hard-core treatment. Slaves not too tuff to avoid crying and sobbing for us Masters. That always proves how much I've broken you in. Some of us are born to be given pleasure. Others are born to sob for the rest of us. Now tell me, little boy, why is it that it's already 1 in the morning and no one has wanted to buy you?"
"This slave is too stupid to be able to answer that, Sir. All it can think is that the universe wanted to make sure that it would be here for you, Sir, that it was destined to become yours."
Good answer! Fuck, this kid is not stupid by any means. Just so you know, I did not script most of what happens between my buddy Rocket and this slave who is going to spend the night in either his bed, his cage or his dungeon. I'm as interested in finding out what happens as you are.
Rocket holds out his index finger. "Give me your mouth. Show me how you've learned to please a cock."
10 leans forward to put his mouth on Rocket's finger but Rocket slowly pulls it away, forcing the slave to strain against the chain holding it in place in order to get just the tip of it into his mouth. "Good boy," says Rocket and then shoves his entire finger in the boy's mouth and pushes it back so that the chain isn't being pulled tight. Rocket's bare-chested except for the leather vest he has on. He's also quite hairy. I picked a hairy guy because I know 10 isn't a fan. Too bad.
Rocket takes his finger out of the slave's mouth and wipes it dry in its hair. "Show me what else that mouth and tongue can do." He raises his elbow and offers the slave his right armpit. 10 dives right in. No hesitation. (It knows that if it ever hesitated to clean a pit it would get caned when I got my hands on it again.) Rocket lets 10 serve him for a while. "Get the other one, faggot." He raises his other elbow and the slave quickly gets over to that one and eats from it hungrily, now that it knows Rocket doesn't have smelly pits.
"You know, boy, whenever I have a new slave brought to my home I have this custom to introduce it to being my slave. I have it strung up and whipped. I figure that's probably the best way to make my point that I don't fuck around.
"A whip is a powerful teacher, Master. This slave fears it."
"That's why it IS such a good teacher, boy. And, by the way, there is a real beauty in the sight of a frightened slaveboy at the post about to be whipped, having no idea how severe the whipping is going to be. Some Masters like telling the slave how many lashes it's going to receive. I do not. I think the fear is intensified when the slave has no idea how severely it's gonna get whipped by its new Master.."
Now I didn't think of that. Three cheers for Rocket!
10 decides that the best answer it can possibly give to this Master is to close its eyes and sigh a sigh of total hopelessness and surrender. That does it. It's time Rocket decides to do something they'll be talking about at the Shaft for years to come. Just you wait and see.
THAT'S ALL FOR NOW
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