Like a Pete Brown Universe

LIKE A PETE BROWN UNIVERSE (with Carl Gallagher), Part One

by Master Redbeard

r-e-d-b-e-a-r-d-e-d-s-f at yahoo dot com

FOR ADULTS ONLY: This is Gay Slave Fiction. If you are not of legal age to read adult content, go away now. If you live in a jurisdiction that does not permit this, go away now (or better yet, get the hell out of that jurisdiction). If you are offended by this sort of thing, what are you doing here in the first place?

Special thank you to Pete Brown -- a writer I've often called the Master of Gay Slave Fiction. Aside from providing inspiration for this story, he also served as Brit-speak proofreader. He went far beyond just replacing "butts" with "bums" and "guys" with "blokes."

My other inspiration for this story is the character of Carl Gallagher on the British series "Shameless" (in Season 7 when he's no longer a little kid in the background, but was supposedly 18, and the actor was 21). To be clear, I don't have a crush on the actor who played Carl (Elliot Tittensor), but on Carl himself. As of Season 7 of Shameless, the stories got a bit absurd, but the writers were shameless in finding excuses to show us Carl's chest, his bum, his V-shaped back, and his various pairs of underpants. Beyond that, I believe the character of Carl Gallagher as written in that TV series is the perfect foil for a slave fiction story.

Shameless is copyright by Company Pictures and Channel 4 Television Corporation. Respecting that copyright, this story is an hommage and does not imply anything about the sexual orientation of the character as written in the show, nor about the actor portraying that character.

At the end of Part Two of this story there are a few paragraphs discussing Carl Gallagher in Shameless, and the scenes in that show which played out in my erotic imagination.

• You can read Pete Brown's stories on Nifty (www.nifty.org). All Pete's stories can be located by clicking on Authors then scrolling down the list on the left. Or by using Nifty's search function. Pete Brown's stories are also available at https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/petebrownseroticstories/

• • • • • PLEASE SUPPORT NIFTY.ORG WEBSITE - - - - -

As Told by the Former Carl Gallagher in 3 Sessions Spanning 10 years

PART ONE: CARL HAS SIGNED THE CONTRACT

Sir told me I had to tell my story into this camera. It's not really the story of my life. More just the story of the last week, and how a straight, fit lad like me has ended up stripped to just my boxers and locked in a cage.

I just signed a contract with this man that says I'll be his indentured servant for three years. Never heard of that kind of servant before, but the upshot sounds like I'll be his slaveboy. And I'm going to be used for queer sex. I know that going in, although I've still never done any actual sex with a bloke. In fact every time I think about his dick coming near my mouth or my bum, I get a twisting feeling in my guts and clench my butt cheeks together. But at the same time the thought of this man being my Master sends a strange tingling through my dick, sort of like I find it sexy.

I'm Carl Gallagher. Grew up with too many brothers and a few sisters on a council estate in Manchester. My dad was on the dole all his life and spent all the Social Services money on booze and pills. So us kids had to learn to take care of ourselves. I knew how to nick things before I could do my multiplication tables. Truth is I'm still not all that keen on multiplication tables, and I've got way better at nicking stuff. About the same time I got sticky fingers in shops, I also got sticky fingers by stickin' `em up as many twats as I could. Got a reputation around Chatsworth for fuckin' like a pro, fuckin' as many birds as would take my dick, and for having a pretty good-sized dick and a great body.

I'd started to earn some cash through this woman, Lulu, who would send me out to sex up older ladies for 100 quid a pop. I didn't mind. I've always been way horny. I can get a boner anywhere, anytime, ignoring the face or the body under me. In fact, I'll lick a gal's slit right into next week. Lulu says it's unusual for a lad my age to know so much about using my tongue. I just love pussy that much.

I'm at an age where I'm done with school. Well, not everyone in my family knows I'm done with school. If they did they'd make me look for a proper job. I usually leave the house in my school uniform, carrying my stuff in a hold-all. But I stash those with a mate and spend most days in my trackies, lookin' for ways to earn some cash. At least I'm now at an age where I'm totally legal for sex (not that that ever stopped me before).

I get a call on my mobile from Lulu saying she wants to talk to me about a special assignment that could earn me a lot of money. She lives in one of those glass and steel highrise buildings they've just put up. The way I was dressed, I had to use the service lift around back.

Once in Lulu's flat, she asked me, "How'd you like to earn 250 instead of 100?"

I didn't even think about it before I said, "How old and ugly is she?"

She handed me a beer and had me sit before she said, "Actually, it's a bloke."

I almost spit the suds out onto her white carpet. "No fuckin' way. You got the wrong boy, Lulu. Carl Gallagher isn't a nancy boy. I don't touch any dicks."

She cut me off. "Who says anything about you having to touch a dick. This bloke wants to give you a blowjob."

I still wasn't going along. "Nah. I don't want folks thinkin' I'm a queer."

"Silly boy," she laughed. "You know I never gossip about business. So nobody's gonna hear about any of this from me. And this bloke is visiting from America. Not gonna be around much longer. Besides, aren't you the one who says you can get a boner for anyone, anytime. And I'll add one more thing -- I'll bet you've put your cock in a guy's mouth before, Carl."

I'm a lousy liar. I know my face went red. She needled me and I told her about the dirty old poofter who picked me up hitchin' a ride. He gave me ten quid to take my pecker in his mouth. It was over in less than half a minute. I pulled out of his mouth and stuffed the ten into my briefs when I pulled them back up. Given how young I was, this bloke should've spent a long time in prison. Although I'll confess he sure gave me a lot of pleasure that day. But he just drove away and I spent the 10 at the sweet shop.

I also had to tell her about this drug dealer two years earlier who offered me some hits of ecstasy if I'd let him suck my dick. We just went into the park behind a tree, he tugged down my trackies and briefs and swallowed me all the way down like an expert. I ended up grabbing his head and fucking him in the face. He gave me an envelope and I was happy. But then I found he had only given me some aspirin.

Lulu laughed then. "You let some strange perv in a car suck your dick for 10 quid? Then you let some sleazy druggie suck your dick for the price of a few aspirin? But you're too straight to let a billionaire suck your dick for 250 quid?"

I didn't know how to answer. Lulu took me by the arm and told me we had to pick up my school uniform at my mate's place, where I would change into it, and then she would drive me over to this businessman's flat. I didn't understand why I had to be dressed in my school uniform, but this bloke had the money so I just did as he wanted. In the car, Lulu handed me a contract and asked me to look it over.

"What the fuck! I thought you said this queer only wanted to suck my dick. What's this list about?"

She laughed that girly way and said, "Oh, none of it should put you off. The first item on the list: He wants you to call him 'sir'. Well, he's the type of distinguished gent that you'd probably call 'sir' if you saw him anywhere." What she said made sense. I mean, what did it cost me to call this posh gent 'sir' instead of `hey, mate'?

Lulu went on, "Next on the list, he wants you to pose for him. Well, what's the big deal in that? You've told me yourself you like being looked at. Last month when you told me about that footy mate eyeing you in the showers, you laughed and said, 'let him eat his heart out'." OK, I figured I could pose for some pathetic old queer. Maybe looking at me making a muscle with my bicep would be enough to get him off?

Before she could continue, I said, "But no way on number three. He wants to be able to feel me up. I don't want his queer hands all over my body!"

Rather than arguing, Lulu said, "I'm authorized to go up to 300 quid, Carl."

That stopped me for an instant, but then I said, "Well, 300 ain't enough for me to let some smelly old poof kiss me on the mouth."

"We can drop that provision, Carl." She told me to put an X through that last item, and to initial each of the other items, and then sign the contract at the bottom. Lulu snapped a photo of the contract with her phone and instantly sent it to the bloke. She smiled, pulled her car to a stop and nodded toward a glass and steel building even more posh than the one she lived in. She said, "Tell them Mr. Masters is expecting you."

There I was in my school uniform at 10 in the morning, and the doorman didn't blink an eye. It seems Mr. Masters owned the top three floors in the building, but had asked them to send me to the 31st floor. Some bloke in a crisp uniform got in a private lift set aside from the others and took me up to 31. He rang a buzzer like it was a doorbell. The door opened and there was an old guy in slacks and a button down with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He smiled as he looked me up and down. I figured him to be in his 50s. He was a big guy, taller than me. I could see he must have worked out to have a chest and shoulders like that, but he'd reached an age where there was a beer belly hangin' over his belt. He reached out a thick, hairy arm, wrapped it around my shoulder and led me out of the lift. The lift operator bowed his head to the old guy, then closed the door and left.

Mr. Masters kept his arm round my shoulder as he led me to a room with a lot of couches and pillows -- the salon he called it. When I leaned back against the pillows my legs were off the floor and I was sort of sprawled on the couch. He fell into the couch and his body pressed against mine. I tried to pull myself away from him, but he put his hand on my leg and said, "Stay, boy."

I started to say, "Look, mister, I ain't queer or..."

He stood up and looked down at me angry. "You knew exactly what was in the contract you signed, boy. I don't intend to do anything that you didn't agree to. And by the way you were a crafty negotiator. I had to give up on kissing your mouth. And I had to fork over another 50 quid."

I started to apologize but he cut in, "And another thing. You agreed to address me as `Sir'. If you can't abide by the contract you signed, boy, I'll have to dock your pay for the day."

"No. No, Sir," I said. Damn, I had already spent that 300 quid in my head.

He sat down next to me and put his left arm round my shoulder. His hand went inside my suit jacket and he was squeezing my shoulder through the white school shirt. He grinned at me and said, "No vest lad?"

"N-no, Sir," I barely whispered.

His other hand was squeezing my thighs through my school trousers. I had figured an old queer would want to get me stripped off and get at my cock as fast as he could. But not this man. He was touching me up through my school uniform, and not even touching my cock or my bum.

He smiled broadly at me and said, "I see so many of you boys, you straight boys in your school uniforms. Been wondering what it would be like to have one of my own to feel up."

The man laughed and asked me about myself. It turns out he knew a lot about a lot of things. He had already researched me thoroughly, knew about my family, even my school records. I suppose he just wanted to see how many lies I would tell him.

He told me that Mr. Masters wasn't his real name. He took the name from a character in stories by his favorite author, Pete Brown. I never heard of any Pete Brown, but then I hardly ever went to my English literature class. And of course when I thought about it I realized none of those posh writers in the olden days ever had a real working bloke's name like Pete Brown.

Sir told me that Pete Brown was the master at writing Gay Slave Fiction. Just hearing the words "Gay Slave Fiction" I made an "Ugh" sound as if I'd just tasted sour milk. Mr. Masters just laughed. He told me that his dream was to create his own "Pete Brown Universe," and added, "You'd think with my money I could find a way to do that?"

What was a Pete Brown Universe? Sir clicked on a machine and there was a recording of his voice reading a Pete Brown story called "You Can't Be Friends With a Slave." It seems there's this future society where things have gone mad. In the American South they've reintroduced slavery, and fit young white blokes are often sold as pleasure slaves for nasty queers. In Pete Brown's story, a bloke named Steve gets accused of rape by his girlfriend and is going to get convicted and sold into slavery for life. His best buddy and footy mate is from the South and tells Steve to sign up to be his voluntary slave. Then the mate promises to give Slave Steve his freedom.

But it turns out the buddy is a rotter. For all his talk about being an "Honorable Southern Gentlemen," the buddy has all the regular slave stuff done to Steve. I mean how could you have your best mate's foreskin sliced off against his will, and without any anaesthetic or painkiller? Then to have your mate's arse branded with an "S" from a flaming hot branding iron? Worst of all, this buddy gets Steve strapped down to his furniture and bum fucks him. Fuck! They were mates on the same footy squad.

Now here's the thing. As Mr. Masters played this recording, he kept having me get into different positions on the sofa next to him. He had removed my suit jacket and I was spread out on my belly fully dressed. The old guy undid my belt then pushed down just the back of my trousers to just below my undies. He pulled up my shirttail in the back. I knew he was looking at my bum wrapped in my striped boxer briefs. I figured he'd pull them down to get at my arse cheeks. But, no, he just touched me through the fabric of my briefs.

I know when I feel up a bird, as soon as she'll let me put my hands on her titties, I'm all over them, grasping and squeezing and memorizing the feel of those soft but firm pillows. But Mr. Masters wasn't grabbing my ass. He seemed to be touching me with one finger. His finger was down at the part between my hole and my balls. I'd never touched myself there. No bird ever touched me there. It was like he was just tickling me, but it was making the fabric of my briefs move slightly against the back of my balls.

I have to tell the truth here. Sir said I had to (remember, I agreed to call him Sir). Between his teasing me with one or two fingers through my clothes, and this story I was hearing about Steve the Slave, my dick had been stiff as a nail for probably about half an hour. Then somehow with the fabric tickling my balls, I grunted and shouted, "Oh no! I didn't mean to... ugh." I was shooting all over my underpants. Mr. Masters put his hand between my legs and was touching the front of my briefs as I shot my wad.

"Fu-u-u-uck," I groaned. "I didn't mean to do that."

Mr. Masters smacked my bum three times and I cried out, "Hey, I didn't agree to that."

He smacked my bum one more time, harder, and it really stung. "You forgot the rules, boy. You always address me as Sir'. As to the other thing. Since you're here on contract, the proper form if you have an objection to something I do is Please, Sir, I believe you have gone beyond the contractual agreement'."

I tried to let that sink in and said, "P-please Sir, I think you did something we didn't agree to in our contract. I never signed off on you swatting my bum, Sir."

He had pulled down the back of my briefs and was massaging my arse cheeks, the first time he'd got his hands on my bare bum, then said, "Quite right, lad. We didn't put that in the contract. I'll be more conscientious in the future. And I'm putting an extra 20 quid in your trouser pocket to pay for the inconvenience."

Well, my bum was still stinging. But the extra 20 was nice. He put his hand down firmly on my arse and said, "However, we have to discuss how you're going to compensate me for your part of the contractual agreement. You had agreed to me sucking your cock. Naturally I expect a big load of cream from such a fit young lad. But now you've already shot your load."

"No, no, Sir. I can have another boner and another load of cream in ten minutes. I'm well known for that."

"It had better be satisfactory, boy." He stood up and gave me a hand to help me up from the deep cushions. Then he led me to this bathroom that was bigger than the bedroom I shared with two brothers at home. It was all shiny brass and black tile. He said he was going to give me a shower. I told him that I knew how to shower myself, remembering to add the "Sir" at the end.

He said, "Our agreement was that I have permission to touch you up and to strip you. I'll be doing both of those things now." Like that he was undoing my tie and unbuttoning my white shirt while I just stood there and let him. He ran his hands all over my chest and shoulders as he let my shirt drop to the floor. Then he ordered me to take off my shoes and socks. I hopped from one foot to the other as I did.

Since my trousers were already opened, they were hanging down around my thighs. He pushed them all the way down and told me to step out of them. The front of my briefs were soaked through. There was also cum on my belly and running down my legs. The old bloke pushed down the briefs and then used his finger to gather up some of the cum on my abs and brought his finger to his mouth.

"Eeeeeuuuugh, gross? Sir." Honestly, if some girl licked up my cum I'd think it was damn hot. But a man in his 50s tasting my spunk seemed gross to me.

He laughed loud. "Are you trying to prove to me how straight you are, lad? Because if you are, you'll have to explain why a hetero boy such as yourself would bone up and shoot his load while having his bum played with by an old gay and listening to a story about a bloke who's turned into a sex slave forced to take dick?"

I was stammering, but he put his finger over my lips and said, "Shhhhh, it's OK, lad. Lots of things are sexy when you open yourself up to them."

Then in a commanding voice, he said, "Undress me, boy."

I reached up and started opening the buttons on his shirt, but then I slowed down and softly said, "Excuse me, Sir, but I don't think me undressing you was part of our contract."

He smiled and said, "Indeed it wasn't." He pulled another 20 out of his pocket and tossed it onto the pile of my clothes. "That's for having you undress me." Then he tossed another 20 onto my clothes and grinned, "And I'm buying your cummy briefs, boy."

So what's the big deal if I undress an old bloke. I went to work taking off his shirt, then was instructed how to fold it neatly and put it down gently. Like I said, he had the kind of broad chest that showed he had worked hard on his body. But he had also gotten a gut that hung over the belt of his trousers. And he was covered with thick black hair everywhere, including his shoulders.

I then had to get down on the floor to untie his shoes and pull them off. As I peeled down his socks (and had to touch his hairy, sweaty feet) he grinned down and whispered, "This would be my dream come true, Carl. To own a lad like you and have you serve as my naked slaveboy."

I shivered all over. When I looked up I could see a huge erection running down Mr. Masters's left leg and making a tent. I almost fell backwards. He took my hands and put them on his fine leather belt. My hands were shaking as I undid his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers. As the grey slacks dropped down, his boner popped up in his white boxer shorts. The old man's dick was so stiff it was holding up one of the legs of his boxers and peeking out.

After folding his trousers, I reached for the waistband of his underpants. I tried to pull them down gingerly so his huge cock wouldn't touch my arm. But I failed. I felt the wet head of his tool slap my arm. I pulled my arm away and he laughed louder than before. This was all a silly entertainment for him.

In the shower stall he washed me all over, soaped up my chest, my arms, my neck, then down my legs. I objected when he started soaping my ass and his fingers were paying special attention to my crack. "P-please, Sir, I'm sure this is not in our contract."

"Now, now, Carl. You agreed that I could feel you up, right? Well, I'm feeling you up in the shower with soapy fingers. And as for where I'm touching, lad? I'm not trying to stick a finger into your bum. I'm feeling up the cutest boy ass I've ever seen. What queer wouldn't want to get his hands on your bottom, lad?"

I don't know how to explain it, but my cock was fully erect again. Something about the way he was touching me, and the things he was saying, was turning me on. I swear I'm straight. When I wank, I think about birds, about their tits and sweet curves. But something about the way Mr. Masters was treating me was making my dick hard.

Then the shower was over. He tossed me a big fluffy towel and told me to dry myself. He handed me a pair of boy's Y-fronts, the kind of white briefs I wore back before I even had hairs down there. I held them up and said, "Sir, these are for little boys. I haven't worn underpants like this since I left primary school."

"Put them on, lad. They'll show off that round little bum of yours nicely."

I tried to pull up the white pants but it was a struggle as they were tight on me. I stuffed my big dick into the pouch and then put on the rest of my school uniform, even the tie and shoes and socks. Was he done with me? Was he going to dismiss me for the day with my money?

Mr. Masters reminded me that I had agreed to spend five hours with him, something I hadn't noticed in the contract when I signed it. He led me back to the salon and up onto a little stage. He turned on multiple lights, all of them pointing at me. The spot where I stood got hot. But he told me to be sure not to move.

Then he started to talk to me softly. "Do you have a good imagination, Carl? Do you like to pretend, boy?"

I shifted from one foot to the other and said, "Well, Sir, isn't pretend for little kids. Not for grown men like us."

A soft chuckle, then, "To me you are just a kid, Carl. Close your eyes, lad. Imagine with me that we live in a Pete Brown Universe."

I grinned at the silliness of the concept, but there was a seriousness in his voice. "Think about it, lad. The Tories are in power. They hate the poor people who live off Social Services. You have a large family, a lot of children, and no real means of support. I could see a Tory government coming out with an edict that families like yours have to hand over one son for indenture. Indenture is a much nicer word than enslavement.

"I know all about your family, Carl. Your oldest brother Phillip is very smart and is at Uni, so they wouldn't take him for enslavement. The next brother Ian is openly gay and unfortunately not at all cute. Yes, the government would definitely choose Carl Gallagher to sell at auction."

My body started to shiver and my cock was betraying me. I could feel it pressing against the front of my school trousers and I knew it made quite a tent.

Mr. Masters wasn't finished. "Most of the lads from the estate will be sold off to the mines or factories. But a boy with your looks and your body, Carl? Heheh, they'd ship you off to a high-end slave dealer. The auction would take place in the gay part of town. Or maybe there'd be a whole city just for gays. Just know that when you go on sale you'll be surrounded by horny old homosexuals. Open your eyes now, Carl."

When I opened my eyes, the lights were blinding me. He placed my hands together behind my back and told me to look at a spot on the floor in front of me. He whispered to me, "That is slave rest position, boy." Then he put my hands together behind my neck, had me spread my feet shoulder-width, and still had me look down at the floor. "And that is slave display position. Those two positions will do for now, lad."

When I looked down at the floor the lights didn't hurt my eyes, but the lights still made it impossible for me to see anything else in the room. The man put his arm around my shoulder and whispered to me, "There's a crowd of homosexuals here ready to bid on you, Carl." He planted a soft kiss on my cheek and added, "At least three dozen horny old gays, most of them filthy rich and rubbing their dicks in their pants. Use your imagination, boy."

Then he turned toward the light beams and, as if he was making an announcement to a crowd, shouted, "And now gentlemen, today's prize piece of merchandise. We've saved him for last in our auction. He's been enslaved by the government. You know how it is, family on the dole, too many kids. But the sale price for young Carl should pay back the government for all the benefits his family has taken."

I shuddered a little. Mr. Masters had painted a picture that seemed too close to my reality -- of course with a "Pete Brown" twist. "As you see we've brought him up to the stage still dressed in his free boy school clothes, the clothes he was wearing when we grabbed him on his way into school this very morning. This lad has had no training. Straight scally lad, so he's a virgin up his bum. We thought it would be a treat," the old man chuckled, "To unwrap our little treasure right in front of you distinguished gentlemen." He then stood behind me and slid my suit jacket down my arms. He tossed it off the stage.

He remained standing behind me and loosened my tie, pulling it off and dropping it to the floor. As his hands unbuttoned my white school shirt, I felt his large body bump into my back. I could feel the boner in his pants push against my clothed bum. I thought about protesting and saying that wasn't in our contract, but the moment just sort of got away from me. When he peeled my shirt down my arms and let it fall to the floor, his fingers began toying with my nipples. He was tweaking them. He even licked his fingers and went to work toying with my tits. Some birds liked to feel the strength of my pecs, but none had ever touched my tits like this. I squirmed and felt my cock leaking into the tight briefs. Damn! Why was this turning me on so much?

I was in slave display position with my arms back behind my head. He brushed a finger along my underarms and I automatically pulled my arm down. I froze and said, "S-sorry, Sir. I'm t-ticklish. I didn't mean to do that, Sir." Fuck! He had me sounding like I was a slaveboy in a Pete Brown story, like I was scared of getting some kind of punishment. He merely chuckled and pulled my arm back up behind my head as he announced to our imaginary audience, "Not much hair on the lad, which is a treat for those of you who enjoy getting your hands on a young one. But as you see, what he has hasn't yet been shaved. We offer our young Carl here fresh and natural, just as he was when he dressed for school this morning."

He ordered me to take off my shoes and socks. I bent over and partway lifted one foot to pull off my shoe and then the other. He rested his hand on my upturned bum when I did that. And he kept it there as I did the same for my socks. I resumed the slave display position. Then he commanded me to turn slowly as he lectured the imaginary audience about my broad shoulders and narrow hips. "Look at the V shape of his back. Imagine looking at that as you fuck this fine bum." With that he grabbed at my arse through my black trousers, which were sliding down and showing some of the waistband of my white Y-fronts all around the top.

When I was once again facing forward, Mr. Masters undid my belt and let my trousers slide down my legs. I felt goosebumps all over my body and felt as if I was blushing deeply. I knew there were no other people in the room, just the two of us, but I imagined for that moment that I was exposed like this in front of 30-some-odd old poofters, all of them boned up, and all of them wealthy enough to buy me as a sex toy.

Sir was rattling on about the finer points of my body, turning me slowly to display all of it. Then with my back turned toward the room, he pulled down just the back of the tight white undies. His hand caressed my smooth arse cheeks and I tensed them together as he said, "And here, gentlemen, is the reason our Carl is going for such a high price. Can you imagine owning a boy with an arse like this -- a bum that's never been invaded? Can you imagine being the first one up this boy's tight little pucker?"

He was caressing my bum and I suddenly started shivering out of control. This is crazy. I never had a reaction like that before. Of everything I've confessed in this recording this may be my biggest embarrassment. I mean a tough bloke like me shakin' all over? And what the fuck was it that got under my skin? I couldn't explain it. I stood there in slave display position. I knew I wasn't really a slaveboy. There weren't really three-dozen old gays with money to buy me. I wasn't really being sold at an auction. But all of this felt so overwhelming and so real, something inside me snapped.

Mr. Masters stopped what he was doing and put his arms round me. He was clutching me to him, my face against his shoulder. He even kissed me on the ear. I mumbled, "I'm s-s-sorry, Sir. I d-d-don't know why I'm... p-please, Sir. I'm so embarrassed." His arms just gripped me to him and his hand moved up and down my naked back as he planted tender kisses on my neck and my shoulder. I was in no state to tell him this wasn't in our contract.

"What a dear boy you are, Carl." I relaxed a little and put my arms around his big clothed body. "Don't you understand that when a man buys a fine piece of merchandise like you he's going to treat it with loving care? Think about a gentleman who buys a brand new BMW. He won't leave it out in the rain or leave it where ruffians can scratch it. You're like a special edition BMW, Carl. You'll go for a very high price, lad. So you'll be treated extra special."

I tried to shake this out of my head. I stood up tall again. After all, he was paying me to play out this game, right? And, also in a strange way, this imaginary auction was making me feel sexy. The man touched me all over as if checking my posture. Then he put me back into position with my hands behind my head and turned toward the lights.

"I've teased you long enough, gentlemen. I've teased this lad long enough. Time to reveal all." Then he tugged the white underpants down my legs and my cock popped out fully erect. It was standing up pointing toward the ceiling. Sir stepped back and just looked me up and down and grinned to the room.

He stood behind me and whispered into my ear as his hand reached around and toyed with my cock. "The bids are coming fast, Carl. 10,000, 20,000. Not nearly enough for a fine piece of boy flesh like you. 30,000, 40,000, and still the bids keep coming. Slowing down a bit as it gets higher. Two final bidders -- one is a handsome hunk of a man, the other a fat old grandpa. Which one will get you, boy? What's that? We passed 100,000 pounds and the bidding is closed! A new record for the boy auctions."

Oh fuck! His hand wasn't exactly wanking me. It was just tickling up and down on my stiff prick. But my tool started pulsing and shooting cream all over the stage in front of me. My legs felt weak. I felt totally humiliated. I was certain that I'm totally straight, that I like girls, so why was the idea of being sold at an auction to some homos making my dick go crazy? Why was I wondering whether my new owner was the handsome hunky man or the fat old grandpa?

Mr. Masters lifted his hand to my face and said, "Oh, Carl. You are hot on the trigger, aren't you, lad? Or is it just that the idea of being a slaveboy is so exciting to you?"

I just mumbled under my breath, "I'm s-so s-sorry, Sir. I don't know why...." Damn. That's the same thing I said to him about shivering and shaking.

Before I could finish he put his fingers into my mouth and commanded me to lick them off. I was so confused and so scared of him at that moment, I just started licking my cum off his fingers. The taste of it made me gag a bit, but he snarled, "Oh, stop being dramatic lad. Get my fingers clean. Every boy is curious to taste his own spunk. Don't tell me you never have."

After I'd lapped up all my jism from his hand I softly whispered, "P-please, Sir. I'm c-certain that wasn't in our contract, Sir."

"Right," he snapped, then reached into his pocket, pulled out a 50 pound note, and tossed it onto my discarded trousers. "But how are you going to make up your part now? I told you when I suck off a young, fit bloke like you I expect a nice big load of cream." I tried to speak but he held up a hand to stop me and continued, "I know you?re going to say that you can get hard again, and that you can shoot off again. But you're not going to give me the load down my throat that I was paying for. I could cut back on the amount I was going to pay you, because the blowjob really was what it was all about, wasn't it, lad?"

I didn't know what to say, I just stood there in the slave display position looking at the floor. He stood next to me and seemed to be thinking. "Well, it wouldn't really compensate me for missing out on eating your full load, but you could agree to a replacement. For instance, what if I were to hump you?"

"H-hump, Sir?"

"You've certainly heard of a dry hump, boy? I get naked and lie on top of you and I grind my body against your nice, hard, naked body. Except the end results of that wouldn't exactly be dry." I envisioned his big hairy body rubbing against mine and shook my head.

"Or you could agree to let me lick you all over, lad." I shuddered at the thought and shook my head even more vigorously. But he just went on with, "Nah, that wouldn't really give me enough of a thrill to make up for that load I've missed out on."

Then in the most matter-of-fact way he said, "Or you could just give me a handjob, Carl."

I was about to object when he added, "Oh, c'mon, a randy lad like you? Of course you've wanked together with your mates. Of course you've taken a dick in your hand and had another boy take yours." Well, as I've said, I'm a terrible liar and my face gives me away right off. Ashamed, I blushed and said, "I was way young at the time, Sir, just experimenting. My mate was the same age."

"So you've never had your hand on a proper big hairy man's cock?" As he said this, he unzipped his fly, reached in, and pulled out his thick penis. I glanced over. Well, you do that naturally, don't you? Just curiosity. I had seen his tackle when we were in the shower together, but this seemed different sticking out against his grey trousers. He took my hand from behind my head and put my fingers around his erection. "Go on, lad. I know you?re an expert at wanking."

I looked down and watched my fingers slide his foreskin up and down along his thick tool. But he pulled away and went to put his dick back in his trousers. "No, Carl. Sorry, lad, but this just doesn't make up for you cheating me out of a mouthful and bellyful of your nice young spunk."

"S-sir, I can do better. You're right. I am an expert. I promise I am really good at wanking."

"OK, then, lad. I'll let you give me a handjob. But also I want another contract for another visit."

I began to protest, but he held up a hand and said, "If you agree to a handjob and another session, of course I'll pay you the full amount for this visit. And we will sign another contract for the next time. It will be more money than this time. Let's say toward the end of the week?"

My head was swimming so I just said, "OK, Sir."

Naked as I was, he took me by the hand over to the deep sofa and ordered me to undress him, as I had done in the bathroom. I'd seen a lot of guys in the school changing room and after football. But I'd never seen one quite as hairy as Mr. Masters. As I said, he had an impressive body, broad shoulders, thick arms and legs, and nicely-defined big pecs. But as is typical for a man of that age, he had a gut hanging over his belt. When I peeled down his boxers, his cock was already at full mast. I knew I had a big one, everyone told me so. But I don't think I'd seen one as long and thick as Mr. Masters'. Then again I might see a buddy's tackle in the showers after a match, but you don't go around showing an erection to your teammates after a match.

He sat on the sofa and had me kneel in front of him. He placed my hand on his erection and turned on another recording. This time I heard Mr. Masters' voice reading another Pete Brown story called "The Fuck Club." In this story a fit bloke named Steve is kidnapped in a parking lot and taken to a secret, underground club where he's stripped, toyed with, and fucked by two other big powerful blokes. In a lot of ways it was way twisted. The point of this club was to grab straight lads off the streets and rape them, taking their arse cherries in front of an audience of nasty old queers. The other twisted thing was that the two blokes who fucked Steve in this story were dad and son.

I politely asked Mr. Masters if he wouldn't play the rest of that other story, "You Can't Be Friends with a Slave"? He said if I wanted to know how the story turned out, I could look it up online. He told me to keep focused on taking care of his cock. I stroked him till my arm was tired, moving in rhythm up and down. His thick cock was leaking pre-cum. At first I was disgusted to feel another bloke's jism on my fingers. But then I was glad for it as it let my hand slide smoothly up and down along his foreskin.

He began to pant heavily and grabbed his cock from my hand. Before I realized what was happening, he pointed his dick head right at me and started to shoot a thick load of cream. It landed across my face before I could even move away. I turned my face but felt the next blast land on my cheek and my ear. Some even got into my eye. I thought older blokes didn't produce so much cream. Mr. Masters was laughing as his cock kept on pulsing and leaking cum.

I wanted to shout at him, curse him for what he had done. My mouth moved, but I couldn't get a word out. Some of his sperm was leaking onto my tongue. Before I could speak he got up, still naked, and sat at his laptop. I used the discarded white Y-fronts to wipe my face best I could. He called me over to his computer screen for me to look at the new contract. He had added in some other things that weren't in today's contract. He wanted to include me jerking him off. I figured, what the hell? I had already done it anyway. He had also included rubbing off against me, licking me, and kissing me. I said no to all three. He said I had to give him at least one of those things. I told him I didn't like any of it and maybe we should cancel the whole contract in that case. He stopped me short when he told me he would pay me 1,000 pounds for five hours.

Well, fuck it! When have I ever had 1,000 pounds to my name? I told him he could rub against me. He said for 1,000 I'd have to give him two things from his list. I sure wasn't gonna kiss this old bloke on the mouth, so I told him he could lick me. I shuddered all over just saying it.

I went home with more than 400 quid in my pocket. But here's the really crazy thing. Back home I used my brother Ian's laptop to read the Pete Brown story, "You Can't Be Friends with a Slave." It turned out the selfish rotter who was supposed to be Steve's friend in the story loses him at gambling. But then Steve's new owner, Master Rafe, is a really good guy, so there's a sort of happy ending.

The next day I talked to my brother Ian and his flatmate Micky. They're both gay. Thinking about the other Pete Brown story, "The Fuck Club," I asked the two of them if gays really did have a thing about raping straight guys?

"Don't worry, mate. Me and Micky would never rape anyone," Ian said. Micky had a shifty look on his face like maybe he was thinking that he would rape someone. I knew he fancied me.

I turned to Micky and said, "I see the way you look at my bum in the showers after a match."

"And why not? You've got a really nice bum, Carl. I'll take a picture of it anytime you want so you can get a real good look at it the way us gays see it."

"In your dreams, Micky."

He grinned ear to ear and said, "Look, straight blokes like you are turned on by the lezzies. Am I right? I've heard blokes say that maybe a gal was a rug muncher because she just hadn't had the right dick yet. So it's like a challenge. Well, wouldn't you think getting up the arse of a fit straight lad would be the same kind of challenge? Maybe you just haven't had the right dick yet, Carl?"

I didn't like the way he'd put that, so I got up and left. I soon let it all slide anyway. I had a big wad of cash in my pocket and I wanted to party. I treated everyone at the Jockey to a round of drinks, then for another round of drinks. I took my best mate, Jamie, out to a fancy restaurant. Of course I had to buy a new shirt so I'd fit in proper at the restaurant. Through all that, I was figuring I wouldn't even show up at Mr. Masters' flat. But before I knew it all the money he paid me was gone. I hadn't even given my sister Debbie money for the household expenses.

Then the night before I was supposed to go to Mr. Masters' place, I got a phone call from him. He sounded cheery. In the nicest voice he told me, "I want to give you a friendly reminder about being at my place at 10 tomorrow morning. As you can imagine, a man of my wealth has many lawyers. If you don't honor the contract you signed, I will sue you for a large sum of money. But I know that won't be necessary. You're certainly going to be here tomorrow morning. Right, lad?"

What could I do? The next morning as per his instructions, I dressed in my trackies and wore a pair of my kid brother's Y-fronts I'd taken from the laundry basket. Liam was more than three years younger than me, so once again I had on pants that were too damn tight on me. But hell that wasn't the worst I would do that day to earn 1,000 quid.

When I got to Mr. Masters' penthouse flat, it started out much like the last time. We sat in the salon and rubbed each other's dicks through our clothes as he played a recording of himself reading another Pete Brown story. It was called "Always Read the Contract." Once again the bloke is named Steve. This time he had his own small construction business. An accident happens and he owes a huge sum. He signs up to work as an indentured servant to pay off the debt. The first place he works is awful. They treat him nice at the second place, but the free workers make him give them blowjobs for 5 dollars a pop. Then it gets way complicated, he may have to work indentured the rest of his life to pay off the debt, and so he checks off the box saying he's willing to do sexual service. He ends up being sold to a brothel and they're makin' him do more and more nasty things. Man did I have a boner as Mr. Masters played with my dick through my trackies.

We both stripped down and this time he wanted us to get into the bed. He ordered me to lie on my back and then he climbed on top of me. I was starting to protest, but he said, "Remember, Carl, you signed the provision that lets me hump and grind against your body."

He greased up his dick and greased up mine and then he started to slide up and down, his big hairy body grinding into my slim smooth one. His dick was very stiff, but mine was also, and the rubbing was turning me on. I still didn't understand it. I didn't like the idea of a big hairy old bloke naked against my body. But his control of me made me feel sexy.

Then he flipped me on my belly and I felt his boner slide up and down in my crack. I tensed my cheeks and said, "P-please sir..." Before I could go on, he patted me on the head and said, "Don't worry lad. I know our contract doesn't allow me to stick my dick up your bum. So I won't do it." There was a little pause and then he said, "But damn, your beautiful arse is tempting, Carl."

With that he pushed his stiff prick between my thighs. I felt the leaking head of it grind into the back of my balls. He pulled back and the flange of his cock tickled the bottom of my pucker. Then he pushed forward and once again he was hitting my balls. He was massaging that sensitive area between my hole and my balls, the spot that nobody had ever played with before Mr. Masters. I could feel the cum building up inside me.

He reached around my chest with one hand and he was tweaking and tickling my nips. His other hand reached around my crotch and he was stroking my hard-on. At the same time he started licking my neck and biting my shoulder. I thought maybe I should protest, but it all felt so good to me.

Mr. Masters was thigh fucking me and breathing hard. Then he slammed his body forward and I felt a flood of wetness against my balls and between my thighs. As his cock pulsed, he cried out, "Oh my beautiful Carl. Do you know how many men see you in the course of a day and dream about shoving their hard pricks deep up that perfect arse of yours?"

His grip tightened around my cock and I found myself shooting my load with his erection still between my thighs. He walked me to the shower then, both of us remaining naked. Sir soaped me and I soaped him, almost in a tender way. Then he started licking my nips. Damn. I was breathing so hard and my cock was immediately boned up again. He sucked on one, then the other tit. He even bit into them a little. I was going to protest, but once again it felt so damn good.

Even though he had shot off, he expected me to give him the full five hours. He told me he had a lot of high-powered meetings, and this was his only chance to relax and unwind. Well, he seemed to be a nice enough bloke, even though I had to keep calling him Sir. He took some sandwiches out of a fridge in a little side room and he sat on the bed to eat them. I looked at him. I'm sure he could tell I was hungry. He took out something that looked like an energy bar, along with a bowl of fruit. "There's your lunch, boy."

"Umm, don't you have another sandwich, Sir?"

"We're playing slaveboy, Carl. This is how I would feed my slaveboy. Proper nutrition and protein, controlled calories. Now sit on the floor and eat. You can drink fresh water out of that bowl." I looked into a dog bowl, then looked at the dry bar I was expected to eat. I wanted to complain, but then again he was paying me 1,000 pounds for the day.

He played another Pete Brown story then. In "he Labourer," Steve (I suppose this Brown bloke has a thing for the name Steve) does construction work and thinks he's the toughest. He's so tough he wants to do voluntary indenture to work with a gang that gets tawsed and prodded to work beyond their limits. I turned to Mr. Masters and said, "I thought this Steve character was really smart. But he sets himself up for voluntary indenture?"

Once again there was a buddy named Rob that Steve trusted, but he turned out to be a rotter (I wonder if someone named Rob ever ran foul of Pete Brown?). Rob was a lawyer and he represented Steve in court during the indenture. At a point I turned to Mr. Masters and asked him about the legal ethics of something in the story. He looked at me oddly and said, "Who told you that you were dumb?"

"Everybody!" I answered. "My family told me I was dumb. My teachers sure did."

He gave me this real intense look, then said, "You never studied law, Carl, but you picked up on the plot point that resolves the entire story."

I was proud of myself then, even though I didn't understand just what Sir was getting at.

That's when he started talking to me about what he called "A Real Contract." He wanted to take me to this island he owned for three years. I would sign a contract to be his indentured servant. I just laughed. But then he seemed very serious when he said, "30,000 pounds a year, Carl. And you won't have to spend a penny of it during those three years. You'll have all your lodgings, your food, your clothes. So when you leave me at the end of the three years, you'll walk away with 90,000. What do you say, boy?" I shook my head vigorously No, but with a smile on my face.

He asked me why I wasn't willing to do it. I told him, "Well, for one thing the prospect of whippings and of gettin' my balls cut off."

"We'll write that into the contract, lad. You can't be whipped. And no harm to your balls."

"Well, there are all sorts of other punishments Steve goes through in those stories. How about a contract that says no punishments of any kind?"

He seemed to think about it as he shook his head slowly. "Imagine I have an indentured servant. I tell you to get me a beer. You sit back in a lounge chair and say, `Get it yourself, you old fart' and I have no way of punishing you. I mean certainly the contract can provide for a hand spanking at the very least."

I shrugged and said, "Sure, Sir." Then he went on, "And a paddle. They use paddles on schoolboys a lot younger than you, lad. Or a light tawse, one no longer than this." He held his fingers apart and it didn't look too threatening. "And of course there'll have to be a collar to control you. And a prod. But at the same time I'll promise not to use a whip. I'll even say I won't use a belt on you. Belts can break the skin and I don't want your body marked up."

Almost with a laugh I said, "Yessir, thank you, Sir."

"So if I write that into the contract, what objections do you have, Carl?"

"Well, how about that awful scene where Steve had his foreskin cut off without any anaesthetic or pain killers. My dick shriveled up and I had to grab it when I heard that part, Sir."

He was typing away at his computer and said, "OK, I wrote in that I'm not allowed to circumcise you or do any other kind of operation or medical procedure on you without providing appropriate anaesthetic and pain killers. In fact I will write in that you will get medical care from the same doctor who treats me. How's that, lad?"

"You mustn't be able to sell my contract, Sir." He typed away and nodded to me. Then I looked right into his eyes as I said, "And then there's the whole thing of taking dick up my bum and down my throat. I don't fancy that at all, Sir."

He chuckled and said, "Well, what would be the point of having you a slaveboy who looked like you if I couldn't use your sweet lips and arse, lad?" I just continued to shake my head slowly and he added, "Let's make it 50,000 quid a year. That means when you get out of service, you'll have 150,000 pounds free and clear, Carl."

I actually stopped then and thought about it. There were all sorts of things Mr. Masters had done that I didn't think I would like, but my dick got hard anyway. And how bad could it be? I mean, blokes in prison got to like doing it with other blokes, didn't they? But I just stood up and said, "Sorry, Sir. Carl Gallagher likes his freedom too much."

"You can't blame a chap for trying," he said, handing me his card. "This is my private number, Carl. I'll be leaving England next Tuesday. If you'd like another meet up you could earn a bit more. But I can't spend so many hours next time."

I took his card to be polite. But I never intended to use it. After all, 1,000 quid in my pocket would last me. This time I wouldn't go around spending it all at once. And I was keen to get my hands and my dick on a bird.

Then something happened that Saturday night that changed my entire life. This really slutty gal at a party was coming on to me. Then I realized she wanted me and another bloke at the same time. Well, I have no objection. One of us would take her pussy, the other would take her mouth. I didn't even care which I got. But when we got into the bedroom, the bird had passed out. Now, I'm hot to fuck always. But there are certain rules and you don't do a gal who's passed out. The other bloke didn't have my principles though, so he went at her and I just left the party.

Next thing I know I'm on the street outside and this slutty bird's brother, who's a big, tough wanker, starts a fight with the randy bloke who fucked his sister. It seems this fucker took video of himself fucking this passed out girl and it was circulating to everybody's mobiles. So the older brother was out for blood. I saw the randy fucker get his head bashed in and I ran.

The next day word was out that the randy bloke was dead, and the older brother was looking for me. I was a witness who could identify him and he was ready to get rid of me anyway he could. I have a few mates who were willing to hide me, so I was up in an attic not far from my own home. But then by Monday morning my picture was in the papers. It seems the girl who was fucked told the cops that I killed the stupid fucker who had done her. So I was wanted by the cops. Two choices: I could go to jail, probably get convicted for murder; or I could get done in by the nasty wanker with the slutty kid sister.

That's when I called Mr. Masters. He agreed to meet me outside his building in a little park. I had on a hoodie to hide my face. He put an arm around me and walked me into his building, then took me up in the lift. He handed me the three-year contract and I signed it. Then he grabbed me around, pulled me into his big body, and kissed me full on the mouth. He had one hand feeling my ass through my trackies, and his other hand was up the back of my shirt enjoying the feel of my skin there. His tongue was in my mouth a long time. Our contract was sealed with a wet, sloppy kiss, and I would be his slaveboy for three years.

Mr. Masters then had me strip to my boxers, put me in this cage, and turned on the camera for me to tell my story. And here I am. I don't know where he's gone. I don't know what's going to happen. But in a strange way I trust this man. Well, I'd better trust him. I just signed my freedom away to him for the next three years of my life.

I hear him coming now. I suppose I've told my story and we'll see what comes next.

MR. MASTERS HAS SOMETHING TO SAY

Masters here. I decided to say a few words before I turn the camera off. I don't know if anyone will ever see this recording. I don't know if I'll even watch it. I assume my new indentured servant told the story of how he ended up signing the contract. I left that to him.

I wonder how many people, hearing his story, will think that I'm an evil villain? Well, I ask you to consider a few options had Carl not signed this contract.

Our Carl here has been nicking things since he was quite young. He's been lucky so far, but we all know that luck can't hold out. One day he will nick the wrong thing and end up in prison. Now, I don't care who his friends are and how tough they are. Once this lad is in prison with a face like this and with a bottom like this... C'mon Carl, turn around and pull down just the back of your boxers to show the camera. That's a good boy. Take a look at the firmness of these cheeks. And listen to the way it resonates when I slap them. As I was saying, with this face and butt, this boy is going to get buggered when he goes to jail.

Let's consider another option for our Carl. I know all about the new criminal kingpin in his part of town, Osgood. This fella is huge, a towering man, and really tough and mean. But, as Carl well knows, Osgood is also a raging gay who has no scruples and no conscience. I happen to know that Carl here is already on Osgood's radar.

Now Carl may believe he has the protection of the Maguire family. But let's be frank. Carl is not a Maguire, and with that sort, family comes first. How long will it be before there's some Maguire in trouble with Osgood? And how long will it be before Osgood offers that family a way out of their dilemma if they'll only hand over Carl. I've heard about the things Osgood likes to do to straight, slim teen lads. It wouldn't be pretty.

Finally, let's consider a third scenario. Carl likes to do drugs. Don't give me a look like that, lad. I know it's the truth. And Carl is not very careful about what drugs he takes. How long will it be before some friendly chap starts talking football with our lad here, offers to buy him a drink, and then gets a date-rape drug into Carl's drink? This lad will wake up, not sure what happened, with an aching in his asshole and shit stains on his boxers.

Here's the thing with all these different outcomes: Carl will get buggered up his rear end. But in each of these scenarios, the man who will get to take the cherry of this beautiful boy will be an evil criminal.

Now here am I, an upstanding pillar of society. I've made an enormous amount of wealth. I contribute to all the worthwhile charities. My work is ethical and honest. So why shouldn't I get to enjoy taking Carl's arse? Why shouldn't I get to take his cherry and have the fun instead of some nasty thug doing it?

That's all I have to say. I need to pack up our Carl now.

(CONTINUED & CONCLUDED IN PART 2)

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