A FATHER'S STORY By Master Redbeard (redbeardedsf at yahoo.com)
(This is a fantasy story set in a world in which slavery exists. This story includes implied sex - the implied sex is gay and may or may not be happening between people of different ages. If any of this is offensive to you or if it's illegal to read such a story in your jurisdiction, go away now. If you have trouble differentiating between reality and fantasy, do not read this story - go get help now.)
MODERN SLAVE Magazine invited a reader to share his positive experiences with the Indentured Servitude program. While not an expert, this reader's story is valuable because he is a real person dealing with the realities of financial pressures and raising children.
I consider myself a typical dad in many ways. Church and good order have always been important to me and I raised my children with a firm hand and a respect for authority. I've always revered President Shelley and the changes he made to our constitution. Our nation was saved by the reintroduction of slavery - no more overfilled prisons, no more welfare roles, finally these burdens on society could contribute something useful by being of service to others. As everyone knows, when the demand for slaves exceeded the supply, President Shelley then introduced the Indentured Servitude Laws, which allowed individuals to enter voluntary servitude or families to indenture their children. I could talk a blue streak about all the benefits of Indentured Servitude, but (and here's where I was such a typical dad) I could never imagine servitude for any of my children.
I remember how outraged I was the first time my neighbor, Bob, suggested such a scheme for my family. To be fair, I was the one who brought up the subject of family finances with Bob. He was a vice president at the bank and had moved into the new condos on the next block just a few months earlier. We met and became friendly in an odd way, since his balcony overlooked my small backyard where my sons exercised and played basketball. Bob was an older gentleman. He told me he was widowed and had grown children and grandchildren who never seemed to visit. But he had a full life. Seeing the inside of his condo it was obvious he had a good deal of money. He was a respected financial consultant at the bank and traveled to exotic locales.
I had provided well for my family, but with six children we always lived on a tight budget. Our house was small and we had done without vacations or other luxuries. But my wife and I had raised honest, decent kids who always had clean clothes (and who had always gotten many comments about their good looks). It was my wish for my oldest daughter to go to college that had prompted my conversation about finances with Bob. She was clearly the best student of all my children and it pained me that I couldn't afford to send her to even a local junior college. Bob casually remarked, "Your son Ricky is so good looking, strong with a good body. He's going to be sixteen soon and you could make good money placing him in indentured servitude for a few years." I just lost my temper and stormed out.
Within the next week I'd have a change of heart. Just a few days later, on Saturday night, the phone rang at 11:30 pm. I was furious. The wife and I were already asleep. The phone call turned out to be the father of the girl our son Ricky had been dating. They were a fine family and attended our church. This father was sputtering with rage. He had found our Ricky kissing his daughter very passionately and trying to push his teenage hands up under the girl's sweater. Now I'm a realistic man. I expect my son would want a good night kiss from his date. But forcing himself on a girl in such an animalistic way - I thought we had raised our children better than that. The girl's father made a sobering comment then. He said, "If I had walked in on them just a few minutes later and Ricky had continued his lustful advances further, your boy might be on his way to the slave processing center right now!"
I hardly slept the rest of the night haunted by that warning. The next morning when our family arrived at church, I saw Bob was there talking with our pastor. I approached to apologize to Bob for my hot-headed reaction and Bob apologized to me simultaneously. He said, "It was crude of me to make it sound like you would enslave your own children for a quick buck." He then asked me to join him and the pastor for coffee that afternoon.
When I arrived for coffee, the pastor began our conversation. He talked about how the bible endorsed the idea of faithful servants and slaves and about "how blessed are those who serve." Then Bob took out some family photos one of which showed his three sons as young teens and adolescents. I remarked, "But I thought you only had two sons?" He pointed to the boy in the middle of the photo and said, "My middle son Wallace is an indentured servant for life." I was so shocked I sputtered in reply, "B-but I thought you were well off financially and... b-but how could you indenture your own son for life?" I immediately regretted my clumsy words..
Bob chuckled in a kind way that made me feel less awkward. He said, "It wasn't my intention to indenture Wallace for life. I had indentured my oldest boy at age sixteen, just for two years. At that time I was just a clerk in the bank and we were renting an apartment. The lease on my first son gave us the down payment for our first house and helped us set up a college fund. Two years later, when his older brother returned to us so fit and muscled, so upright and focused, Wallace seemed eager to follow him into service. I placed Wallace into indentured servitude for a five-year contract. I held the lease so I could have pulled him from service at any time. But the fact is Wallace took to his role as a servant. It would have been cruel to drag him back into the life of worry and responsibility that us free men have to contend with."
I was astonished and stated the obvious, "So all this time you have a son in indentured servitude." Bob nodded, "Lifetime indentured servitude. I still receive yearly payments as his leaseholder. Since I don't need the money any longer, it goes directly into accounts for my grandchildren. By Wallace remaining in service he's insuring a better life for his nieces and nephews."
While I was still gathering my thoughts, the pastor added, "You know that one in every five young people will spend at least some time either indentured or enslaved. You have six children. Don't you think it's your duty to our society to offer at least one into service?"
I then told both of the men the story of what had happened the previous night, how Ricky had forced himself on that girl and how, had he gone a bit further and actually tried to have sex with her, he would already be on his way to being enslaved. They nodded sagely. All three of us then repeated some form of the well-known admonition, "The safest place for a young man is in servitude!" My worst fear was for any of my children to become enslaved for life. Knowing now how hot blooded Ricky was, I saw the controls of an indentured life as being a guarantee against his getting into serious trouble that could permanently derail his life.
I was 100-percent convinced that indentured servitude was the right course of action for Ricky even before Bob told me that he thought I could make $30,000 a year as Ricky's leaseholder. This would be enough to send our oldest daughter to college and also set up college funds for the rest of my children. I phoned my house and told Ricky to come directly to the pastor's house for a conversation.
Ricky reacted as one might have expected. First he was angry and seemingly outraged. "How could any father turn his son into a slave." I corrected him, "Indentured servant." But he went on, "Oh dad, that's just fancy doubletalk. Everyone knows you become a slave. How could you say you love your family and yet want to see me be a slave that has to serve some master?"
The pastor broke in with, "We all serve a master, boy!" Then went on, "And how could you profess to love your father and love your family and yet refuse to be of service?" That got Ricky silent and gave the pastor time to extol the virtues of service to others. Before the pastor had even finished, Bob picked up the thread by asking, "Don't you care about the future of your brothers and sisters? You're the oldest boy in the family, Ricky. You need to take responsibility."
Ricky next started crying. In any other context I would have been ashamed to see a son of mine weeping like a girl. But I understood that I was asking him to give up a great deal. All three of us let him ramble on as he sobbed, "But dad, I was set to be captain of the varsity baseball team next year... and I almost had enough saved up for a new bike... my grades were getting better... I've always been a good boy...." Finally he was out of breath and I hugged him.
Bob was an expert on indentured service since he had often prepared mortgages and other loans in which families bonded their children. I told him that I didn't want to send Ricky away for training, but preferred to train him at home. I would also not permit Ricky to be sent to some auction house where he'd be chained up naked for all sorts of people to paw over his body and then bid on him. As Ricky's leaseholder I would negotiate directly and decide who would purchase my son's services. Bob felt my choices were unwise, but I was insistent. I know that these decisions helped calm Ricky down a little bit.
The very next morning Bob took Ricky and me to the Slave Induction Center. I hated the fact that my indentured son had to be registered at the same place as criminally convicted slaves, but because of his age and because it was a family indenture, Bob and I were allowed to accompany Ricky in the facility. Ricky was immediately ordered to strip naked, which was difficult for him since he'd been raised in a modest home. When he hesitated, he received a touch from the electric prod that left him writhing on the floor. He looked to me for help, but I did not protest any prodding or paddling he received at the center. Bob had wisely advised me that Ricky had to learn obedience and that the light punishments of that day would save him from harsher punishments later on.
Bob had warned me about the many indignities Ricky would face and about how an indentured servant had to give up any claims to modesty. While I was prepared for the overseers and examiners to handle my son's body, the worst moment for me came when I became aware of a rough-looking convict directly behind Ricky in line. This man was probably close to my age, was almost a head taller than Ricky and his hairy muscled naked body was in stark contrast to my son's smooth slim one. He displayed his large erect penis without any shame at all and as the line of inductees moved slowly along I kept seeing him bang up against Ricky. There was ooze from his penis that was dripped onto my son's bare bottom. I wanted to complain to one of the guards, but Bob held my arm and warned me that the guards might be harsher with Ricky if I interceded on his behalf. The next moment Ricky turned and swatted at the big man behind him. He was pulled from the line by the guards who smacked his butt cheeks with a paddle five times. When he was pushed back into line I could see tears in his eyes. But the big guy now kept his distance. I was proud of my son.
I watched as Ricky was bent over and had some device shoved into his rectum, which was then adjusted as if testing the muscle tone of his cheeks. Then at the very next station along the way, Ricky was standing side by side with the big convict and each of them was being masturbated by an overseer. Bob tried to calm me down and told me that they needed to check Ricky's health in every aspect and things like muscle tone and sperm production were important. Still I whispered to him that this overseer with frosted hair and an earring looked like a homosexual to me. "I spent my life guarding my son from such sinners. And now within a few minutes I've watched one pervert ooze his slime onto my son's bare flesh; I've seen his bottom being invaded to the obvious delight of the queers in the room; and now some other homo is stroking my boy's privates in a lascivious manner." I continued, "If I wasn't here watching what would these sodomites be doing to my boy?" Bob was philosophical and said, "That's why you should be glad you're having your boy indentured and that he hasn't fallen into the enslavement trap." That quieted me down and gave me a lot to think about.
By the end of that day Ricky had been collared, had his slave ID number tattooed on his right shoulder and on his left buttock, had a global positioning chip placed behind his right ear, had his head hair shaved down to a quarter inch and had all the other hair on his body completely shaved off. He was delivered to me still totally naked and carrying a neatly folded set of slave clothes. This included the thin white slave shorts, tank top, the jockstrap-like article that was made of soft white cloth, and a slave poncho.
I should describe what Ricky looked like. I don't wish to commit the sin of vanity, but Ricky (and all of my children) has been described as cute, strikingly good looking, or handsome. He has clear skin, blond hair, freckles that were disappearing as he matured, and an all-American look. He had been a star athlete throughout his school career, and now stood 5'8", about 130 lbs, with smooth flesh stretched across firm young muscles. He was the sort of boy people would turn and look at. During the day at the Slave Induction Center, people were turning and staring at his nakedness in ways I didn't like.
As Bob and I were collecting Ricky at the end of his ordeal, one of the overseers was just leaving. It was the fellow with frosted hair who had masturbated my son earlier in the day. He smiled at me and said, "I can see why you want to take him home for training instead of leaving him here." I looked at him not comprehending his meaning and he continued, "If I had an ass like that at home I'd have him bent over and be fucking him day and night."
I stood up to my full height and said, "How dare you assume such a thing. This boy is my son!"
The nervy overseer huffed at me and said, "So what does that matter? Enslavement trumps family relationships. I've known dads who've indentured their sons just so they could use 'em for sex!"
Bob calmly added in, "Hey, cool it fella. This boy won't be sixteen for another two weeks."
The overseer looked up and down at Ricky's body and then said, "Oh man, that's worth waiting two weeks for. Hell, that's worth waiting sixteen years for."
I was ready to start a fight with this man, but had to turn my attention to Ricky who had started crying uncontrollably. He was sobbing, "Dad, don't make me do this. I'm not a queer. I'm not a homo. I don't wanna s-s-s-suck or..." I put my arm around him and promised I would look after his future. I assured him that anyone who wanted to purchase his services would have to go through me and he knew the way I felt and the way my church felt about queer sex.
Bob gave me a lot of books to read about slave training and he told me he was surprised how well I did. I think it's because I've always been a strict disciplinarian and because my kids already knew the importance of being obedient. Midway through the training I had my wife take our two daughters to her sister's house. Bob emphasized how important it is for an indentured servant to be trained naked and I was simply uncomfortable keeping Ricky naked with his mother and sisters in the house. I know this was silly. My wife and daughters had seen naked slaves out on the street or in stores. We all knew that nudity for a slave (or indentured servant) wasn't the same as nudity for a regular person. Still I couldn't get the idea out of my head that this was their brother and son they were seeing bare.
Many of the most severe beatings Ricky received came about because of his resentment of his younger brothers. His brother Will was only thirteen and the twins were two-and-a-half years younger. But Ricky had to call each of them "Sir" and had to obey their commands. I know that Ricky had picked on Will and teased the younger boy, so it was likely that Will was getting back at his big brother, but I considered that a good experience in training Ricky. Each night Will was responsible for chaining Ricky down to his bed naked, his legs spread and his arms above his head so he couldn't masturbate. Will was also responsible for checking Ricky's grooming to make sure my older son had cleaned up every hair off his body. One time I walked in and found that Will had Ricky strapped to the whipping frame and was strapping his butt him while three of his young friends watched. I was about to protest - after all a high school sophomore having his naked ass beating viewed by a bunch of middle school students -and then I realized that the humiliation of this experience would prepare Ricky for the sort of humiliations he would have to face as an indentured servant.
Right after Ricky's birthday Bob took steps to market him as an available indentured servant. He told me that a complete set of nude pictures was standard in such circumstances and by that time I had learned to accept that my indentured son would be seen without any clothes. I must say the pictures of him on the Internet looked great. Bob also asked for pictures of Ricky from his free life: in his baseball uniform, dressed up for a family wedding; with the swim team. He said these would add to the Ricky's appeal since some people enjoyed having the recently indentured rather than born slaves. While he was at it, Bob also took naked pictures of my younger sons. He assured me these would not appear online, but said it was standard practice to have these on file. The twins were at an age where they thought being photographed nude was a lark. But Will was at a point where he didn't want his changing body to be seen. I finally had to tie his hands to a ceiling beam to get all the pictures Bob wanted.
Things got a little rocky when potential buyers started visiting our home. Ricky did a good job of presenting himself - by this time he knew all the appropriate servant poses, Display, Rest, Kneel and the others. The first man who came to see Ricky brought along his pimple-faced son. The man knew his slavemeat (as the saying goes). He examined Ricky thoroughly, digging his fingers into the sides of Ricky's pectorals and into the backs of his thighs to test my boy's muscles. He was explaining to his son what he thought of Ricky's potential, as if teaching his boy how to examine a slave properly.
When I asked what use he had in mind for Ricky, he told me that he had promised he would buy a slave for his son's fraternity. He chuckled and said that's why the frat had admitted his son. As soon as I heard that I ushered the father and son out the door. I didn't want Ricky to spend the next few years in a fraternity house. One of the reasons I had him indentured was to protect him from wild parties and the indiscretions of youth. I was not about to deliver him right into that environment.
I was hopeful about the next people to come see Ricky. They seemed like a nice quiet couple with a married daughter and a son in college. They said they wanted Ricky as a houseboy and spoke about how proud they were of their gardens and how much gardening he'd be expected to do. I liked the sound of this. Good honest work with fresh air in a decent churchgoing household. As soon as I saw this gray-haired couple I was ready to hand over my oldest son to them. Thank goodness I didn't.
As they examined my naked son, the husband pulled Ricky's mouth open and pulled out his tongue. He turned to his wife and said, "Oh, this will do very nicely for you, dear." The wife then pushed four fingers into Ricky's mouth, smiled at her husband and said, "I think he'll do a good job for you as well, sweetheart."
While I was trying to digest this, the husband ordered Ricky to bend over and pull his cheeks apart. He asked me, "Is the boy a virgin?" I nodded my head and said, "I'm certain he hasn't gone further than kissing and touching a girl a bit." The man licked his finger and pressed it into Ricky's crack as he said, "No, I mean has he taken a dick up his ass?" I shouted indignantly, "Of course not! He's all-boy, not a homo!" Ricky cried out as the man's finger jabbed into his anal opening. As he manhandled my son, the man laughed and said, "Sure, I know that. But he's a slave boy. I'm not saying I'd fuck him more than once or twice a week, though I'd sure use that pretty mouth."
I couldn't believe he was saying this in front of his wife and the woman was standing there smiling as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I started shouting at them to leave my house. He acted like he was the injured party and was shouting at me, "I could get an ugly 45-year-old to work my garden for a third of the price. Why do you think anybody would pay so much for that boy of yours? With that face and that body a slave like that is made to get fucked." I had told the man over the phone about the offer I'd turned down that would have placed Ricky in a fraternity house, so the angry man now shouted, "And what do you think those drunk frat boys would've done to your pretty little blond here? Hell, he would've been so stretched out after a year there... he'd be lucky to get the light use that I'd put him to."
I was out of breath and Ricky was sobbing by the time those awful people had left the house. Bob had been standing quietly in the corner. I turned to him and said, "You see why I didn't want to have him bid on at an auction. Who knows what kind of people and what kind of uses..." I just shook my head to get the foul thoughts out of mind.
Bob shook his head in a different way and said, "You've incurred quite a few expenses in training the boy and you've already put your daughter's college fees on a credit card. You have to find a buyer for Ricky and fast." Ricky's sob broke in. Bob looked at him and said, "Chin up, little fella, it's time to get more proactive in finding a nice buyer for you."
A few days later Bob told me he was bringing two gentlemen to look over Ricky. I didn't like the idea of two men, but Bob told me they were father and son. When Warren and Dave showed up, I had a gut instinct that they were queers. I whispered this to Bob and he smiled and said, "It's just that they're refined gentlemen. Their shirts are perfectly ironed, their shoes are perfectly shined, they are perfectly groomed - it's all because they're used to having slaves care for them."
They stripped Ricky but left him standing there naked, not at all over-eager to examine him. I learned that Warren was in his 60s and was a real estate investor. He said, "I have enough money to have retired years ago, but I have too much fun at my work." Dave was an interior designer and was just 40. It turned out Warren had adopted Dave years earlier. Warren explained that his marriage had ended in a bitter divorce. Dave explained that he just hadn't found the right woman yet.
As the two of them circled Ricky, feeling his muscles, I remarked, "You understand that my son is totally heterosexual. He's not gay in any way." Warren laughed and said, "Yes, Bob explained your concerns to us. Let me assure you that we only like to have straight boys serving us - young athlete totally hetero like your boy here. We have no interest in having any sissy queer boys at our place."
I noticed that with all the touching he was experiencing, Ricky's penis had grown fully erect. Dave slapped the boy's penis and ordered, "Get it soft, boy." Then Dave turned to me and said, "Hmmm, are you so certain he's totally straight?" I ordered Ricky to get his penis soft, but he seemed to be sweating and nothing happened. Then Warren pinched Ricky's arm and twisted his fingers so that my son cried out. His penis was deflating now.
Dave had a black shoulder bag and he reached in and pulled out something made of metal mesh. I saw him manipulating Ricky's penis but couldn't see what he was doing. When his hand pulled away I could see there was a ring around my son's testicles and that the length of his penis was encased in a wire mesh enclosure. Warren turned to me and explained, "It's a penis cage. We understand that boys this age need some release. But we also know they can be guilty of excessive masturbation. The penis cage makes it impossible for the boy to get fully erect and impossible for him to masturbate. It's up to his owners when the cage gets removed and he can get some relief. And that of course means that it's up to Ricky to be obedient and willing to please so that we give him permission to touch himself." Warren then looked right at Ricky and said, "Self pleasure is not a right, boy. It has to be earned."
I smiled from ear to ear and said, "You are men after my own heart. I'd be honored if you want to purchase my son."
Warren turned to Ricky and said, "Ricky bend over. Just a few more things we need to check out." I saw Warren ooze some goo from a container onto two of his fingers. Then I saw his fingers press down between my son's cheeks. Ricky howled out, "Dad don't let them. They're homos. I can tell by how they're touching me." Before Ricky could say more Warren slapped his butt so hard it echoed through the room. I was immediately apologizing to both of my guests. Dave turned to me and said, "Do we have your permission to give him a spanking and to wash his mouth out with soap?" I said, "Gentleman, if you're still willing to take him, he's yours, so you have permission to do anything you wish."
I directed them to our large downstairs bathroom. As they dragged him into the room, Ricky was still crying out, "Dad, don't let them..." I heard the door lock and then a series of sounds: The clear sound of Ricky's ass being slapped; Then I heard my boy call out, "No" but the word seemed gargled into a noise as if his mouth was being invaded; Then a sound that was somewhere between gagging and slurping; and of course the slapping on his butt repeated and resonated in the tiled bathroom. These men knew how to treat a servant boy.
When Ricky managed to call out, "Dad, these homos are trying to..." I called back, "Ricky, you belong to these nice gentlemen now. You'd better learn to obey them and to please them." Just then I heard Dave's voice call out, "Yeah, please us, slave boy." This was followed by a loud groan from Dave. At the same time the spanking of Ricky's bottom stopped. I could hear Ricky sobbing softly and what sounded like a zipper and things being pulled from Dave's shoulder bag.
Suddenly I heard Warren call out, "Is someone at the window there?" I knew instantly what had happened. My second son, Will, had climbed on the garbage cans to peek through the bathroom window. This was something he had been punished for before. I called out his name and went running up the alley. I had Bob cut him off from the back so I was able to grab Will by his shirt collar and drag him back into the house. When we entered the house, Ricky was between his two new owners, his handcuffs attached to the back of his collar, his penis in the wire mesh cage, and an unusual gag in his mouth. It was clear Ricky had been crying, but when he saw his brother and me he seemed to be struggling to tell us something. Of course all he could was grunt.
I pulled Will instantly over my lap, tugged down the back of his jeans and the back of his briefs and began to smack his bottom. He was calling out, Ricky was looking frantic, and the three other men in the room were all smiling as they watched the scene. Dave kept saying, "Oh, don't be so tough on the boy. He's just curious." Warren chuckled softly, "Looks at that round butt. Clearly some features run in the family."
Will fell off my lap to the floor his reddened butt in full view. He scrambled to his feet trying to hide his exposed bottom and I said, "Son, apologize to these gentlemen for peeking in on them." Will glared at me but then turned to Warren and Dave and said, "I'm sorry I looked." Suddenly my two guests looked nervous as if waiting to see what Will would say next. My middle son added, "That was a real cool way you had of washing out his mouth. It's just what my stuck-up brother deserves."
There was an even more frantic look in Ricky's eyes as his new owners marched him toward the door. I noticed something that looked sticky dripping from Ricky's lips and I brushed it away with my finger, remarking, "Must be a little soap from washing his mouth out." Will looked at Dave up and down and then said, "Gee, sir, you got something dripped all over your nice pants." Just as I looked down and noticed what he said was true, Will added, "Must be from when my brother was trying to spit that soap out of his mouth, huh?" Dave reached into his pocket and handed Will a 50-dollar bill, then patted him on the head, saying, "What a bright young fellow you are."
As Warren and Dave put my bound oldest son into the trunk of their car, I called out, "Don't go easy on him. Make sure he takes care of you right."
Warren smiled back and said, "You can trust that as soon as we get him home, I'm going to be on top of him."
After the car had driven away, Bob showed me the check. I had been figuring on the $30,000 that Bob told me to expect, but Warren's check was made out for $40,000. I said to Bob, "Is this the yearly amount now?" He nodded back and said, "Warren likes to do right by people he likes, and he certainly likes you and your family."
Bob did a lot of traveling after that, but four months later I got an invitation to come to Bob's condo for coffee. I was surprised to find Warren there, looking tanned and rested. I had been told that it was not proper for family to have contact with their indentured child or to have contact with their child's master. But it turned out Warren had requested an opportunity to meet with me.
The small talk was strained. He knew I wanted to know how Ricky was doing. He leaned back and said, "Your son had a difficult start. He didn't like to take orders from us. He just didn't want to serve us as we needed him to. But we trained him."
"I hope you didn't have to beat him too badly," I blurted out.
Warren shook his head. "Not at all. We're enlightened. We had a ring placed through the tip of his penis. This is even more effective than the penis cage in keeping boys from erecting or masturbating. Also we could chain him to the wall by the penis ring. A few hours attached to a wall by a penis ring can be just as effective in training a slave as a whipping. And without the nasty marks."
He continued, "But once Ricky was broken in, he was all we had hoped for. He really learned to please his masters." Warren let out a contented sigh and then continued, "That's why I transferred Ricky's ownership to one of my holding companies. He's now working in a resort in the Caribbean. I own the property. Actually, I own the island. And I own 60-percent of the resort."
My first reaction was outrage. "That wasn't my understanding when you bought him!" I went on to tell Warren about my refusing to let Ricky be purchased for use in a fraternity house. Then I expressed my concerns about his being at a tropical resort where young people would be indulging in debauchery.
Warren remained calm and said, "No it's not that sort of place at all. This is a very quiet place. It's very expensive and is specifically designed for older gentlemen. It's kind of an unwritten rule that the resort is for men over 50."
I said, "Gentlemen? Without their wives?"
"Well," Warren continued, "It's sort of a spa, a place men can go to refresh themselves and not worry about the ladies. There's a golf course, tennis, some spectacular pools, beaches, massage, anything you can think of that would pamper a man's body or mind. Also, it's naturist - that means it's clothing optional. As you can understand the nudity is a little more comfortable without women there."
I asked, "Everyone is naked all the time?"
"It's clothing optional for the guests. The staff is nude of course. But then again slaves are usually kept nude most places. Ricky has gotten a wonderful all over tan."
"Well, if Ricky has to be naked all the time, I'm glad it's a place where there are only men."
Warren handed me a check for $10,000 and my eyes went wide. He said, "I know I'm not obligated to give this to you. But your son is now the most popular slaveboy at the resort. We have to charge members a premium if they request service from him. In fact he doesn't even have a bed in the slave quarters any longer. He's always in the room of some guest or other."
"In the room of some guest? What sort of services do these men...?"
"As I said these are very wealthy men. They expect things to be just the way they want them. One man likes to lie back on a lounge chair and have Ricky feed him watermelon dipped in Belgian chocolate. Another man likes Ricky to run his bath and he's very specific about the temperature of the water. One gentleman of 80, he's a CEO of a multibillion-dollar company - he likes Ricky to massage his feet for an hour at a time in a footbath."
I shuddered with revulsion as I thought of my teenage son, tanned and muscled, naked on his knees in front of some 80-year-old codger. But then I looked at the check for $10,000.
Warren pushed a piece of paper in front of me and said, "I need you to sign this receipt for the check. It just acknowledges that you received the check."
"What's all this other writing here?" I asked.
"Oh, that acknowledges that I informed you that your son, of whom you're the leaseholder, has been moved to a location outside the United States. To tell you the truth I should've had you sign that before I had Ricky moved, but... well, we're all friends here, aren't we?"
I nodded and signed. As Warren grabbed the paper from me, he said, "Now I'd like to speak to you about something else. How would you feel about making your son Will an indentured servant?"
That question was so unexpected, you could have knocked me over with the proverbial feather. "Will?" I asked. "He's only thirteen now. Bob had told me that boys of that age never bring in more than $15,000 a year."
Warren's voice became businesslike as he said "I'm prepared to give you the same amount for Will as I'm paying you for Ricky. $40,000 a year for five years."
My mind was reeling when I considered that amount of money. "B-but, why?" I asked. "Bob told me there wasn't much use for boys of that age and there are requirements about having to give them schooling and proper nutrition."
Warren leaned back and said, "It would be an experiment for me. I may be crazy and I may end up losing money. But I think there are some guests at our Caribbean resort who would enjoy having younger slaveboys taking care of them."
"Gee," I thought out loud. "He's so young. How many hours a day would he have to work? How hard would he have to work?'
"Work?" Warren chuckled, "Yes he may have to give a foot massage, or something similar to that. But how about all the time he gets to spend on the beach, just tanning or swimming or playing volleyball or wrestling with the other slaveboys."
"Volleyball? Wrestling?"
"Our guests are older gentlemen. Some aren't able to be active much. So they enjoy watching our young slaveboys show off with athletic contests. I do believe that's a big part of the reason Ricky is so popular."
Bob began to explain, "Look the laws on the island are a bit different from the United States. For instance, legal age on the island is considerably lower, so that Will would already be considered to be over the age of..."
Warren interrupted, "Working age! Yes, what Bob is trying to say is that Will would be considered to be legal age to work. But you have my hand of friendship on a promise that he will not be given strenuous labor to do, no heavy lifting, and we will keep up his education and nutrition just as I would if he was in my own home."
I shook his hand and said, "Besides, he'll have Ricky there to show him the ins and outs." Warren handed me the contract and I signed it. He and Bob thought it best that I not give Will any advance warning and they would arrange to pick him up at my house the following night.
Bob arrived with Warren and Dave at 7 and I went to get Will from his bedroom. When I led Will into the living room and he saw the three men he tensed up and I held my hand firmly on his shoulder. Bob started reading the document declaring Will an indentured servant and the boy started to bolt from the room. I grabbed him under the arms and lifted him off the floor as Warren and Dave started to strip off his clothes. His t-shirt was ripped off, his jeans and briefs were tangled at his feet.
Bob snapped Will's new collar on his neck. The boy was frantically trying to pull free but I was too strong for him. He yelled out, "Dad, don't let them. Don't let them do this to me. These guys are creeps."
Dave had a gag shaped like a small missile. He was trying to get it into Will's mouth, but my son kept turning his head as he called out, "Dad you don't know... what I saw them doing to Ricky in the bathroom... these guys are..." The gag was firmly in place and Will could only make muffled sounds. It was a simple matter to cuff his hands to the back of his collar and to place a short chain between his ankles.
Dave patted Will on the head and said, "That's right, boy. You saw us give your big brother that very special way of washing out his mouth. And now you've earned the same punishment yourself." Dave and Warren pulled my young son to his feet. Warren was trying to calm the boy with the soft way he said, "But none of that is going to happen until we enter the airspace of our special island, Will. We're going on a private jet to our private island in the Caribbean. And once we get into the airspace of the island, we'll have a special party on the plane with you as the guest of honor."
I tried to cheer up my distraught son, naked and shackled, by saying, "Isn't that exciting, Will? There will be some other men on the plane with you. Each of them is paying 10's of 1,000's of dollars to go to that private island, but you're going to the island for free."
Not exactly free, I thought to myself. He would have to work there. And yet, how tough would the work be in a tropical paradise like that? What sort of demands could rich old men have on a cute little boy like Will?
I was pleased to see that Warren and Dave sat Will in the back seat between them, instead of placing him in the trunk as would be standard with a slave. I mean, an indentured servant. The last thing I heard Warren saying to my boy was, "On this island, you're considered to be legal age, Will. That means we can treat you like an adult. Isn't that what every little boy your age would like - to be treated like an adult?"
I followed Bob's advice and invested the money I got from selling my boys into indentured servitude. Things haven't gone too well with the money. Bob is very apologetic about his investment advice but he says he's sure things will improve. I've given my twins as collateral but Bob says not to worry - it would take a series of unlucky turns before I would have to hand over my youngest sons. Besides, I tell Bob, the twins are still so young. But he's told me that since Will arrived at the Caribbean resort they've brought in more younger boys and lowered what they call legal age on the island even further. He said the younger boys are becoming so popular the resort might end up transferring Ricky to another location. This was the first I heard about Warren owning resorts in Thailand, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Africa, Eastern Europe and South America. I was impressed but didn't like the ideas of my sons being split up - especially not if there's a chance the twins may end up joining their brothers. If that were to happen at least I'd feel better knowing they had Ricky and Will there to teach them how to take care of the needs of older gentlemen.
I felt kind of creepy the last time I took the twins to Bob's condo for their monthly nude photos. Of course they don't know anything about the bank loan and just think taking naked pictures is a game. Bob asked for some new poses. He had the boys wrestle together. Then he gave them popsicles to eat and had a contest to see which boy could get the popsicle furthest in his mouth. I asked him why he was making them pose like this and he said, "Oh, just something for the fellas at the resort to enjoy." Then he reassured me not to worry. He's optimistic something will come through for me financially. It's good to have a friend like Bob.