SUMMER INDENTURE EXTENDED

By Master Redbeard for comments or compliments r -- e -- d -- b -- e -- a -- r -- d -- e -- d -- s -- f at y a h o o dot com

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This is an adult erotic gay slave fiction story. If such stories offend you, or if it is illegal to read such stories where you're located or because of your age, please go away now. If you can't tell the difference between fantasy and reality, go away quickly and get help. The story is set in a society where good looking young men can be bought, sold or leased as slaves -- generally used for sex by powerful men.

In this story, Luke would like to spend the summer before college goofing off at the beach club. But a wealthy new neighbor needs a slaveboy, a limited indenture just for the summer. But will this man be satisfied to only own Luke for three months, and to have limitations on his rights to this athletic 18-year-old's body?

CHAPTER ONE As Told by Mr. Cruz

I understand the finer things in life. I have a magnificent home in Kentucky staffed by slaves. Although I am vice president of a major corporation, I also maintain our plantation as a farm -- a small operation with two overseers and about fifty slaves working the land. Like most gentlemen in my position, I also dabble in slave trading. I've made some wise investments in newly-enslaved boys, trained them, built up their bodies, and sold them for a big profit.

Kentucky is a state that knows how to treat its indentured population. Down South we aren't bothered by these slaves' rights organizations. There is a big whipping frame in the courtyard in front of the slave quarters, and every slave on my property has felt the lash.

So I wasn't happy when the president of my company insisted I spend the summer months in New York, working with a company we were buying. My corporation rented a fine house in Westchester, north of the City, for my son and myself -- it was tiny compared to what we were used to, but would still require household staff. I didn't want to bring any of my slaves north from Kentucky. New York State's indenture laws are muddled with all sorts of liberal nonsense (How dare a state tell me how I may and may not punish my own indentured property?). I was afraid that if I brought some slaves north, I wouldn't be able to bring them back to Kentucky.

The home was fully furnished, but without the grand style we are used to in the South. Once the slave delivery people had left our bags and boxes, we were on our own. "Do they expect us to unpack and put away our own things?" my son Cameron snapped. "As if we were working proles who can't even afford slave help?"

It had been a frustrating experience all around. I had phoned some slave rental agencies, but the first one told me there would be a waiting period while I was investigated (can you imagine? Investigating the slave owner rather than the property?). The next one started rattling off so many restrictions, including the number of hours the slave could be worked, that I slammed the phone down.

Then I looked out the window and saw a lean youth with glistening muscles who was mowing the lawn across the street. While my side of the street had grand estates, each situated on a large plot of land, the other side had smaller homes, probably upper middle class professionals -- the sort of families that might have just one slave on household staff. That being said, I was surprised by the beauty of the boy who was sweating nearly naked across the street.

His dirty blond hair was cropped short -- not an approved a slave haircut down South, but the sort of short cut acceptable for New York slaves. His hairless torso was hard and slim, the body of a runner or swimmer. I knew that a property like this boy would bring in a high price from most any boy brothel, and wondered how a family in such a modest home had been able to afford him.

His hair was pasted down with sweat and rivulets of moisture slid down his face, then his neck, his chest and into the frayed waistband of the green shorts that slid low on his hips. The sweat stains at the stretched waistband continued down the back of the fabric defining the cleft of his nicely curved butt. When the boy bent forward to adjust something on the mower, I saw half of his ass crack revealed. I had to put my hand in my pants pocket to adjust my growing erection.

My son came to the window and immediately saw what I was watching. "Maybe the neighbor would let us borrow that slaveboy, dad? At least to help us unpack our things?" His words echoed my thoughts exactly, except I was already wondering if I could befriend this neighbor and get my hands on this teenage boy's ass.

I saw a handsome woman step out of the front door of the house carrying a bag of garbage. Why was she taking the trash out to the can instead of having her boy do it? I took this opportunity to head across the street and introduce myself to my new neighbor.

By the time I got across the street I heard shouting beside the house. I ran the rest of the way only to find the nearly-naked youth yelling loudly at the woman. I always keep a retractable slave tawse on my belt. I pulled it out and slapped it across the boy's exposed shoulders. "What the hell is going on here?" I shouted in my booming voice.

The boy grabbed his shoulder and looked at me with fury. "What the fuck...?"

I raised my tawse again, this time intending to give a harsher strike to the insolent youth. But the woman stepped between us. "Please, sir. What are you doing?"

Shaking my head I said, "I know things are done differently in New York, but permitting your slaveboy to speak to you in such a way is intolerable."

The woman stood frozen, her eyes wide, before she broke into a wide smile and said "This isn't a slaveboy. This is my son, Luke."

Trying to understand what was going on, I asked, "You have indentured your son?"

"No," she chuckled. Then her voice grew harsh as she turned to the boy and continued, "You see that, Luke? This man assumed you were a slave because of the sloppy way you dress and groom yourself."

"Awwww, mo-o-om, it's so hot out and I'm dripping sweat," he groaned as he tugged his drooping gym shorts up to his waist.

"You have your son do..." I stammered to find the next words. I was going to say, "slave tasks," but I didn't want to offend the sensibilities of these northerners. "It's just, where we come from free boys do not dress like that and do not mow their own lawns. And that thing around his neck...?"

The boy grasped at a makeshift choker, and grunted, "My girlfriend made this for me." The youth retrieved a dirty white t-shirt from the grass and used it to wipe the sweat from his face and then from his body. His mother explained that these mock collars, hand-made of fabric and plastic, were a style trend among high school students to say they are slaves to love.

My son Cameron came across the street and joined me. Luke reached out a hand to greet Cameron, and my son cringed back. "Father?" he asked disdainfully as he looked at me.

I smiled and said, "Luke is not an indenture. He is this lady's son." Cameron seemed startled but still moved away from Luke's gesture of greeting.

I introduced myself to this attractive neighbor and explained that I would just be staying in the big house across the street for two months. I told her I would invite her for coffee, but there was nobody at our house to even make coffee. She invited us into her modest kitchen, where she brewed coffee.

Mrs. Nicholas explained that her husband had died three years earlier leaving her to raise her two sons. The house was fully paid off, so they had a comfortable place to live. But they had to make economies, the first being selling their household slaves. She, Luke, and her younger boy had taken on all the chores and upkeep of the place. This was in addition to her full-time job as a university professor.

As Luke passed us on his way to the stairs, I asked, "And what was all that shouting about?"

In the brash manner of teen boys, the blond youth snarled, "My mom doesn't trust me."

The woman shook her head and said, "I just got an offer to teach a summer program in California. It would be a nice chunk of money, but I can't bring along my sons. My youngest is a quiet, well-behaved boy of fifteen and he can go to stay with his grandfather. But Luke has butted heads too much with my father-in-law and the old man will not let him stay there for the summer."

"I just turned eighteen, mom," the boy interrupted. "I can stay here on my own. Why don't you trust me?"

I could smell the boy's musky body and felt my cock throb at the words "just turned eighteen." That meant he was legal age to be indentured. I looked over at my son, Cameron. Our eyes met. We were both thinking the same thing.

The mother had a calm, rational answer ready. She reminded the boy of some prank he had gotten involved with earlier in the spring. "You were lucky it was before your birthday. If you had been eighteen when they caught you, you'd have been stripped naked up on some auction block."

"Yeah, probably in Gaytown. They like boys like you in Gaytown." I was startled and realized that Luke's younger brother, Tommy, had just come downstairs. Tommy had a tinge of red in his hair and freckles on his round face. His body was chunkier than Luke's. The tightness of his shorts on his bubble butt and the way his t-shirt stretched over his pecs made me think the boy must have had a recent growth spurt and needed new clothes. I knew plenty of auction houses that would have given a generous payout as a pre-bid on the fifteen-year-old boy, prepared to collect the property on his eighteenth birthday.

Tommy ran out of the house and Luke left us to go take a shower. At a signal from me, my son Cameron excused himself to return to our rented house; he knew I wanted to talk business. I only half-way listened to Mrs. Peyton's tales of financial troubles. I wondered whether this woman realized that if she sent both of her sons for auction, she could retire with fabulous wealth.

When she concluded, I told her I admired her gumption for managing to live without slaves. I made a joke about my own lack of life skills and how helpless my son and I were without slave staff. She praised her sons for learning to take care of household tasks. "Not only can Luke cook and do the dishes and laundry, but he can mop the floor and make minor repairs. He's also stronger than he looks. He may not be such a big kid, but his muscles are hard."

I chuckled for show and then said, "Funny enough, when I thought the boy was a slave, I was going to come here and ask if we could borrow him for a few hours. But I just had another thought." I took a pause as if coming up with this idea on the spot. "Would you consider signing up Luke as a summer indenture?"

The woman seemed startled, but I didn't want to give her any time to object. "Hear me out. You know the laws of New York are pretty lenient on slaves. And for a summer indenture there are even more restrictions on a Master. You said that Luke couldn't find any summer work because low-level jobs are all filled by slaves these days. But here's a way for the boy to bring in good money, at the same time he won't have any living expenses and he can't get into trouble."

Her face went from apprehensive to appreciative. "He'll pitch a fit about this. He wanted to spend the summer with his friends at the swim club."

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. "You've made so many sacrifices for your family, Mrs. Peyton. Here's a sacrifice Luke can make that will keep him supervised the entire summer, help defray the cost of college, and maybe help him become a better, more disciplined young man."

When it looked like she might have another objection, I wrote a sum on a paper napkin and pushed it toward her. Her eyes lit up. "This amount is just for the summer? Luke needs to leave for college the day after Labor Day in September."

She phoned a neighbor she trusted. She told me that Mr. Thrush was retired from the slave trading business, and had been helpful to her when she had to sell her previous slaves. Meanwhile I excused myself to use the restroom and managed to open the bathroom door with perfect timing so I walked in on Luke stepping out of the shower. His buttcheeks were even more inviting bare and glistening wet. I knew that I was going to have that boy's delicious ass.

CHAPTER TWO

We reconvened half an hour later in my parlor. Mrs. Nicholas had brought along Mr. Thrush, a jolly fat old man, with a thick head of white hair and a big tummy hanging over his belt. Luke was also there, but grudgingly. Dressed in baggy jeans and a t-shirt, he had his hands in his pockets and was slouching as he kept on repeating, "You can't do this to me, mom."

Mr. Thrush had a soft but manly voice as he said, "Luke, you have now been officially informed that an action of indenture is being considered. You are not yet a slaveboy. But you are in the process. Therefore you must follow certain rules. And you must follow orders from the free people in this room."

"Maybe I'm in the process, Mr. Thrush. My mom hasn't made up her mind yet."

"Luke, please, if I sign you up for a summer indenture, it solves so many of our problems, son," she woman pleaded.

Mr. Thrush touched her arm and said, "I know you're speaking as a concerned mother. But in this situation, you must do what's best for the potential indenture. Pleading with him or asking his permission to go through with this is certainly not a good start."

The fat man ordered Luke to take his hands out of his pockets and stand at attention. When the boy did not move, the old man grabbed him around and pulled a paddle from his jacket pocket. I never would have guessed that a man his age and his size had the speed and strength to hold the teenager and smack his ass five times hard with the paddle.

Luke moaned and rubbed his butt through his jeans. The retired slave trader snapped, "At attention, boy, hands behind your head and stay still and silent." Even though he was sniffling, Luke did as he was told.

Mr. Thrush had a sample contract with all the standard provisions. He and I flanked Mrs. Peyton as she went through the different paragraphs and initialed each one. No disfigurement, no body modifications, and no tattooing -- these were standard for such a short-term indenture. There were to be no punishments that broke the skin. He would eat only approved slave mush and drink only water. He would wear a slave collar and dress in whatever uniform was chosen by his master.

Then we got to the sensitive section about sexual uses of the slave. Naturally, the mother began with, "Well, no sexual uses at all."

Mr. Thrush was solicitous and said, "Yes, of course. But I think you'll find this no-insertion clause will cover your concerns. No insertion means that there can be no penis or other object inserted into the boy's mouth or his rectum." He paused and then continued, "I'm sorry to be so blunt with my language, but I want this to be clearly understood by you and by Luke."

His voice grew softer as he explained, "Clauses that have said no sex whatsoever have led to some tricky cases that have clogged up our courts. After all, an owner must have the right to examine a slaveboy's body at will. There was a frivolous lawsuit from a short-term indenture who claimed that his owner's touches constituted sex.

"At the same time, an owner has the right to expect certain services. I'm sure men like Mr. Cruz and his son are used to having a slaveboy help them in the shower. There was a nonsense lawsuit claiming that soaping up a Master's chest and body constituted sexual activity. We wouldn't want to deny them the use of their summer indenture boy to wash them in the shower, would we?"

I noticed the troubled look on Luke's face and I also noticed the glint in Mr. Thrush's eyes as he licked his lips and looked up and down the teenager's body. I knew then that I would have an ally in my goal to turn this free teenager into a real cock-servicing slaveboy.

I thanked the fat man for his insight but asked for my own clarifications. "You understand that I'm from a different part of the country, so I want to put this all out on the table. Of course it's obvious that no genitals could go into the slaveboy's mouth or anus. That's the point of a no-insertion sex clause." I nodded to the woman across the table from me. "I apologize to the lady for my frank language. But I need to be clear on this no-insertion clause whether I could insert a drinking hose into the boy's mouth? Or if the slaveboy needed an enema...." I shrugged and let my voice peter out rather than complete the thought.

"Sometimes the simple words `in reasonable circumstances' can go a long way to ironing out questions like this," Mr. Thrush helpfully interjected. I gave the man a half-smile. He and I both knew that courts had found the "reasonable circumstances" clause vague. Slave owners could get away with all sorts of crap and then offer "reasonable circumstances" as their explanation.

I looked at the curve of the teenager's ass in his jeans and imagined how warmly those cheeks would cling to my thick fingers when I got up his hole.

After the woman signed, she pushed the paper toward me. I paused and said, "I can't sign until I've done a thorough examination of the merchandise." Mr. Thrush and I assured the mother that this was not something she would want to observe, and we sent her home to gather a bag with some of Luke's clothes.

She kissed her son goodbye and told him to be a good boy. "Just do as you're told and I'm certain Mr. Cruz will be a good Master to you."

"Mo-o-om, you can't do this to me. I'll be good. I'll apologize to grandpa so he'll let me stay there."

"Now, Luke, none of this nonsense. You'll be kept busy and out of trouble. You will earn money for college. And maybe you'll get some more discipline and order in your life." She shook hands with me and the retired slave trader and left.

Thrush taught Luke standard slave display poses. Then we led him upstairs to my bedroom. There was a small room about the size of a closet that was meant as sleeping quarters for a body slave. There was also a punishment horse and a whipping frame. I made sure Luke saw both.

"OK, boy, strip down so we can examine the merchandise."

He took his hands from behind his head and stepped toward me as he said, "Look, man, I'll be a good boy for you. I'll be your servant. I'll cook and do all the other stuff. But this slave bullshit is...."

I took an electronic prod from my pocket and touched it to the boy's neck. He fell to the floor, his body writhing. As he gasped for air he said, "Y-you're not allowed to punish me in ways that...."

"I'm not allowed to punish you in ways that break the skin. An electric prod does not break the skin, boy." With that I grabbed him by the collar and lifted his head up far enough for me to smack his face hard with an open palm.

Staring into his eyes I snarled, "Play time is over, Lukie boy. That prod was set to a 20% charge. Next time I have to use it there will be a 30% charge. And we will go up from there, slave."

"Luke," Mr. Thrush said in his firm but soft voice. "You're a slaveboy now. At this point it's only temporary for the summer. But you'd better start acting like a slaveboy, or you'll be in for a world of hurt."

"B-but, Mr. Thrush...." The boy began stammering. This time Thrush pulled the boy to his feet, took the slave prod from me and touched it to the youth's nipple through his t-shirt. Even as the youth convulsed, the old man held him upright. "You address all free men as SIR," Thrush hissed.

"You were ordered to strip down naked, boy," I snapped.

"Y-yes sir," Luke whimpered as he peeled his t-shirt over his head. I had already seen the smooth slender chest, but now it was exposed in my own bedroom. The teenager kicked off his sneakers and socks with his feet. Then he reluctantly unzipped his jeans and let them fall. He stepped out of them and stood in a pair of plaid boxer shorts, his hands covering his crotch.

"Luke? I thought you were a bright boy? Is it possible you don't understand the meaning of the word naked?"

He quickly peeled down the boxers but kept trying to hide his penis. When I held up the slave prod in a threatening way he put his hands behind his head and was fully revealed in all his youthful glory. He was blushing deep red.

I touched his semi-erect penis and said, "Getting stripped by your Master is getting you hard, Luke. You do know that if it turns out a boy is gay, then all the restrictions on sex are lifted."

"P-p-please, sir... please, Master. It gets hard when I get nervous or scared, sir."

Thrush was circling the boy and letting his thick fingers land wherever he pleased. They caressed the round globes of Luke's ass cheeks as he said "I've known his lad since he first started school. He certainly has filled out very nicely -- especially this lovely little round ass of his. A shame about the no-insertion provision."

I saw tears forming in Luke's eyes as I replied, "There may be creative ways around that." Thrush adjusted the erection in his pants.

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(TO BE CONTINUED)

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