MASTER CHAT: MY FORMER BEST BUDDY
By Master Redbeard
"Bob" is a prominent attorney and friend to many in the upper echelons of the slave trading community. He has kept a record of his Instant Messenger chats with many of his friends and clients, but has deleted his own comments from these transcribed conversations. He has changed names and locations or removed names where appropriate.
Bob's Statement: "I'm releasing these chats to counterbalance the recent spate of sentimentalist BS supposed-enslavement stories, most of which paint the owner or slave trader in a harsh and negative light. This may be an incendiary statement, but I suspect that some of our most prominent slave story writers may be closet abolitionists! How is it possible that slavery enjoys such a high level of support among the American people and yet the public sees any man who enslaves a younger family member as some sort of ogre? It's time the public heard the unfiltered comments of the men who have contributed so much to our way of life by adding prime young stock to our enslaved population."
(If it's illegal for you to read stories involving homosexual acts or if you're offended by stories that include family or dominance-submission scenarios, please go away now. If you can't distinguish reality from fantasy, please leave and get help asap.)
Credit to my favorite cyberpartner, Will18 - he gave me the outline for the story and he's the reason so many younger brothers in my stories are named "Will!"
If you want to contact me please include the title of the story in the email title line. Flames ignored. Redbeardedsf at yahoo dot com.)
-------------------- A MASTER CHATS WITH BOB: MY FORMER BEST BUDDY
By Master Redbeard
I hope you're well. Sorry to say, I'm not. I don't need your sympathy. Given the way I've led my life I don't expect sympathy from many people. Even my doctor laughed and said that when a man as rich as I am is dying of cancer that's proof that there really isn't a cure. I bet that doctor is crying his eyes out over the fees he won't be able to charge once I'm dead!
Why should I have any regrets? I've indulged myself throughout my life. And now I'm provided with enough painkillers that I don't usually know what planet I'm on. No, I woke up this morning and chose not to take any painkillers. At least not until after I finish my business with you. I want it known that any business I have with you is being done with a clear mind.
My heirs will definitely try to get this overturned. Actually, I'm hoping some of those blowhards keel over with heart attacks when they hear that I've left a few billion dollars to the Slave Defense Fund.
Yes, obviously that group goes against everything I've stood for all my life. In fact I've considered those do-gooders a thorn in my side and in the side of every decent slave trader in this country - always trying to root out corruption or to prove that this or that slave was indentured illegally. But let's just say I need to do this one thing before I die. I suppose I do have one regret. I want to tell you the story and maybe you'll have a better suggestion of how I could make amends.
Maybe this is a deathbed confession. Yes, I suppose it is - though I hate to be a clich^Î. Most certainly I'm on my deathbed. I certainly don't plan on lingering and letting nature take its course for the next few months. I'm thinking this coming Tuesday night would be a good time to die. Tuesday will be the 50th anniversary of a car accident that changed my life. That's what I want to tell you about.
If a client comes right out and tells you that he did something illegal, as a lawyer you're required to report that, right? That's why you lawyers are always so careful to warn us about what we tell you. I know the way it works. So it's Friday now. If I were to tell you about something illegal I did you would need to report that on Monday. Nobody in the court would even see it till later in the week. If it's something that happened years ago it could languish in the court system for months. I know the way it works.
Actually it was my father that did something illegal. But by not saying anything I was certainly complicit. It's the sort of heinous act that members of my family would never... well, if we knew someone was guilty of false enslavement, we would shun that person from society. Yes, I said, false enslavement. I know it's just about the most serious charge you could bring against a free man.
This story is actually about my best buddy from high school. His name was Matt and he excelled in just about every way: wavy light brown hair, strong cheekbones and jaw, and yet soft eyes and lips. That boy's shoulders and chest were something to behold even as a young teen. He was the star of just about every sport at school. Plus he was a top-notch student. Captain of the football team and captain of the debating team at the same time.
Yes, it does sound like I was in love with him. I guess I had a schoolboy crush. I don't mind telling you that I've always preferred the company of males and the bodies of males. I married and had an heir and a spare, just as I was expected to do. But I never made any secret of my predilections.
Of course I didn't flaunt my sexual preferences in high school. I was as fake macho as the rest of them and I had girlfriends - all the usual. But at home I always wanted to get my dick into some nice slave boy. My father was the one who introduced me to those pleasures. No, my father and I never had sex together. Don't be crude. But we certainly saw each other in action, sometimes even spit roasting a slave boy from both ends and then trading holes midway.
But I was trying to tell you about Matt. At that time my school had a limited number of students on scholarship. Most of us were from the right sort of families, but they let in a few students who were truly exceptional and gave those boys a free ride. Matt's parents were both schoolteachers and his father was also some sort of coach.
Of course there were some students who wouldn't associate with the scholarship boys. To be quite frank, during freshman year, my father objected to me forming a friendship with "some boy from the working classes" as he put it. But when I brought Matt home on a holiday weekend, my father just melted. He became as big a fan of Matt as I was. My dad and I talked quite openly about sex and, well, both of us were quite hot for Matt.
During the next few years I tried everything I could to get Matt to fool around. I managed to jerk off with half the boys in my class and get a good number of them to sixty-nine with me. But Matt just never took the bait. I would talk to him about masturbation and how "wouldn't it be nice to feel another hand on your dick for a change," and he would just laugh and pretend I was joking.
Matt would never even take me up on an offer of a slave boy's mouth and when I had a slave boy suck me in front of him he just slipped out of the room to "give us privacy." I tried to get him into games of strip poker or truth or dare, but nothing worked. One problem, he never drank. I always felt if only I could have gotten Matt drunk everything would have been just lovely.
It was spring break of our senior year. Yes, just this time of year. Matt was staying here at the estate. I was going to be leaving that stupid school in a matter of weeks and I decided that I didn't care any longer about being discreet.
Matt was lying in bed still asleep one of the last mornings of our break. I was standing over him and watching his wonderful smooth chest rise and fall. I peeled back the blanket and saw that he had a boner in his white briefs. Fuck it! I just went for what I wanted. I got down beside the bed and started to work my mouth around his erection through the white cotton of the underpants. My mouth was watering.
I pulled his dick out of one of the legs of his briefs and swallowed it down. Nice foreskin pulled back behind a mushroom head and my mouth was filled with pre-cum. Matt was groaning and I was slurping up and down. Reached my fingers into the leg band and played with his balls. I was in heaven.
When Matt started stirring I just kept at it. But then I felt his hand on my head. He pushed me away, sat bolt upright in bed and gasped. Then he pulled away from me and wrapped the blanket around his body protectively. He jumped off the bed like I had the plague or something and he had the strangest look in his eyes.
By that time I didn't want to play any games. I just looked up at him and said, "Oh, c'mon, Matt, you must have known how much I've wanted to do that." I mean I had never come out and told him I was gay, but as senior year progressed I stopped making such an effort to talk about girls and to play all that macho crap.
He blushed and looked away from me and was saying how he suspected that I was "that way" but that he always wanted to believe otherwise. He kept on saying how he was totally heterosexual, how he could never have sex with another guy.
So I said, "You have to admit that blowjob I was giving you felt real nice. I know your dick liked it." By that point I would've been happy just to suck him off. He told me that once he knew it was me that the idea of any dick being in a any man's mouth just turned his stomach. Then he ran into the bathroom and threw up. Hell, you'd think it was him that was swallowing all that pre-cum.
That's not all. Once he came out of the bathroom he was all wrapped up in a towel. He didn't want me to see him in his underpants! I told him he was crazy. I had seen his naked body thousands of times over the previous four years. I had seen him in the shower and undressing dozens of times that very week. But he said now that he knew I had those sorts of thoughts about him that he just couldn't bear the thought of me seeing his body. Hell, he didn't even want me looking at his chest.
We had a big party that night. He assured me that he would act perfectly normal with me at the party and wouldn't let on to anyone at school what had happened. Like he was doing me some big fuckin' favor!
By that time I was more pissed off at Matt than I knew I could be. I had a chat with my dad about the whole thing. That's the nice part of being open about sex with your dad, I could tell him about anything. He seemed more pissed off than I was and he muttered about "that's what happens when they let riff-raff into our better schools."
So Matt and I went to the party that night. I was driving my classic Jaguar. Well, the car was more than sixty years old at the time. I mean the chassis and outer body was the original old car - naturally it was all digitized equipment under the old hood. And of course I was drinking heavily. I have some vague recollection of Matt not wanting to get into the car with me after the party. He was trying to get the keys from me and I was yelling things about just leaving him there. The Jaguar was downhill so nobody from the party actually saw which of us was driving when we left. That turned out to be a crucial thing.
I have no recollection of what happened. But apparently I drove the car into the front gate of the estate, smashed the whole front of the Jaguar and completely smashed one of my legs. Yes, you'd never know it now. Ah, the wonders of micro-surgery and the availability of tendons and bones and other spare parts from slaves. But I was kept in an induced coma for about five months after the accident so I wouldn't have to experience the pain.
When they finally brought me out of the coma, I had no idea so much time had passed. Of course they didn't bring me out of the coma until the pain from my leg was pretty well gone. Machines had kept the muscles exercised, but I needed to learn to walk again.
But the thing is when I came out of the coma, I opened my eyes and there was my father standing with his hands on his hips and his erection sticking out of his fly. Matt was on his knees dressed in just white briefs. And my father's thick cock was sliding in and out of Matt's mouth. My father grinned at me in the hospital bed and said, "His lips really are soft, son." You don't forget something like that as the first words when you wake up from a coma.
Honestly, I thought I was dreaming. That's the only way I could make sense of the scene in front of me. I was still feeling hazy from waking up and Matt's slave collar and ID number didn't register right away.
My father pulled his dick out of Matt's mouth and turned the nearly naked hunk to face me. Then my dad pulled back the blanket and commanded, "Pleasure your young master's dick, slave boy."
Matt looked up into my face, tears filling his eyes, and whispered, "Please, Billy, don't do this to me." Well of course my father flew into an absolute rage. He pulled down the back of Matt's briefs and started smacking the boy's ass. Matt was begging him to stop and apologizing and asking forgiveness.
That was the point when I knew it was no dream. This was really happening in front of me. I didn't understand how this situation had come about. But clearly Matt was a slave. And let me tell you, my cock was hard as a spike. I didn't even have the strength to grab that beautiful new slave by the neck, but I grunted, "Suck my dick!"
My dad was right. Those lips were the softest and most tender things that ever pressed around my boner. Just the site of that handsome athlete deepthroating me was enough to make me pop. Damn, I had lost months of my life. So as far as I was concerned it was just the previous day that Matt had thrown up from the very thought of my mouth on his cock.
As if he read my mind my father started telling me how rough it had been to train Matt's throat. Then my father started fingering my former buddy's butthole and told me that he hadn't put more than three fingers up Matt's ass. "I left the ass for you, son. I knew it would be special."
Matt was sobbing as he sucked me and I could feel his tears fall into my pubes. In my weakened state my dad helped me out by pushing down on the back of the new slave's head when I spurted my load down his throat.
I fucked Matt's ass for the first time two days later. I had him tied on his back with his legs up to his shoulders. I wanted to be able to look into his face. I wanted to be able to kiss his mouth. Oh, I think that was the worst for him - getting tongue kissed by a guy. Of course there was plenty of pain from opening up his ass. But I think Matt could deal with physical pain better than he could deal with humiliation.
My father simply refused to tell me the story of how Matt got enslaved. So one day I ordered Matt to tell me the story. I had to reassure him three times that he had permission to speak freely before he would begin.
Matt told me that I had been driving the car after the party. I knew that of course. He said that the computer controls on the car had kept us safe getting home but that then I took it off computer when we neared the estate and I drove too fast and slammed into the gate. He said I was thrown from the car, my leg crushed pretty badly, and I was unconscious. Meanwhile, Matt was pretty much OK with just a few scratches on him. He ran to the house to inform my father what had happened.
In the story Matt told me, my father insisted that he have something to drink right after the accident. Even though Matt never drank alcohol my father was very insistent that he needed hard liquor to calm his nerves. Matt told me that he quickly felt very drunk. He figured it was because he wasn't used to drinking. I figured it was because my father had spiked the drink.
Matt then told me that he woke up in police custody. Apparently my father had told the cops that Matt had been driving the car, not me. Of course the police found alcohol in his blood, but they also found some sedatives. Matt didn't understand how that could have happened. Well, I know my father, so I know how it happened.
At that point Matt tried to tell the cops that he hadn't been driving the car, but they just beat him whenever he made those claims. After all, my father was the richest and most powerful man in the county. The cops were already treating Matt like he was on his way to being enslaved. In fact, the cops started making him give them handjobs. They used one of those old-fashioned devices that hold a slave's mouth open and jerked off into his mouth giving him his first taste of cum. Apparently they kept their hands off his ass because they didn't want to risk pissing off my dad by taking a new slave's cherry.
And all this happened because my father had told a lie. Matt's family was sued because of my injury. And Matt was enslaved.
OK, what would you have done at that point? If I revealed the fact that I had been driving the car, Matt would have been freed. But then my father would have been charged with false enslavement. Even back in those days, the mandatory sentence for that crime was enslavement. To save my former best buddy I would have ended up destroying my father, his fortune, and our entire family. So I ask you, what would you have done?
I told Matt that if he ever again made such reckless charges against a free man, I would remove his balls and his vocal chords - without any anesthetic. He just bowed his head and said, "Yes, Master."
Now what would I have done if there had been some way to free Matt without getting my father in trouble? I honestly don't know how to answer that question. At that point I began using Matt for sex constantly. I took a year off and didn't start college till the following fall, so I was pretty much a bum with plenty of free time. I spent a lot of that free time with my dick in one of Matt's holes.
Just as soon as I was out of the coma and back on the estate my father took off for a long cruise to the Caribbean. Oh, I didn't tell you that part. Apparently the judgment against Matt's family was so large that we also took possession of Matt's younger brother. Well, my dad took possession anyway. Really cute kid named Will. He was like a smaller version of Matt. In fact he looked so much like his big brother had looked back when I first met Matt years before. I'm pretty sure Will had applied for the same scholarship that Matt had been on to attend our school a year later. But that was never going to happen now that he was enslaved. Yes, the Caribbean was very popular at that time. That was before Florida changed its laws.
So I had the run of the estate. I had lots of parties and really enjoyed showing off Matt. There were a couple of really queeny boys back at my school. I had never associated with them. I preferred my gay guys masculine. But I had these boys over to the estate, just so they could humiliate our school's former sports star.
Back at school, any of these boys would've given half their inheritance for a chance to suck Matt's dick or have him play husband and get on top of them. But now that he was a slave, he was the one who had to get on his knees or bend over the card table. Oh yeah, the card games with those sissies! Matt would stay under the table so nobody had to get up when they needed to pee.
This one prematurely balding boy was so skinny he looked like he'd blow away with the first gust of wind, bad skin, unfortunate features, and a high-pitched nasal voice that could only belong to a big nelly faggot. The sight of our school's golden boy on his knees worshipping that skinny homo's needle dick still brings a smile to my lips.
I taught Matt to say certain phrases during sex. At first he choked on them, but you know how good punishment is to reinforce instructions. He became real convincing. When I had some of his jock buddies over to the house they watched me sex him up as he squealed, "I need your dick, Billy... Use my ass like a pussy, Billy... I got a hot cunt for you, Billy." I had trained Matt to the point where he had an erection during the entire act. Once they saw that, the jocks pounced on him.
Gee, somewhere in the back of some shelf there's a video I took of his former football team buddies slamming into Matt at both ends. They're yelling things like, "We'll fill your cunt for you, girly." There's a close-up where you can see the tears on Matt's face, but those brutes were too busy fucking him to notice.
On that same tape we have Matt's circumcision. I did it myself. I didn't even strap him down. I just used the football players to hold him firmly in place. Some of those jocks were real pissed off about the amount of blood that spurted. I don't know what they expected.
During that year I also started to make friends with many older men - homosexual gentlemen in their fifties and sixties. I never had sex with any of them that I can recall. But I'd always bring Matt around. I can't explain what it was about that. Seeing Matt, who was so athletic and youthful and handsome, the champion that everyone in our school had so admired, being made to lick behind the balls of some gross old man who was fat and out of shape. Why did that boy's humiliation get me so aroused?
To be quite honest, in spite of my age and my frail health, the very image is exciting me even now as I write about it. Well, to be totally honest, I'm looking at the image even as I write about it. I have a new slave boy who's licking my balls as I lie here and type this to you. He's just 18 and he is the exact image of Matt.
Naturally I began breeding Matt as soon as possible. It was great. We'd tie up the wench and blindfold her with her legs spread and raised. Then we'd blindfold Matt and cuff his hands to the back of his slave collar. Then I'd slide Matt's cock into the wench. Before he could start fucking, I would slide my own erection up Matt's butt. I was the one providing the fucking motions that sent his seed to create a whole lot of new little Matts.
I also kept a good deal of Matt's sperm in storage. As years went on I looked for wenches who were a close genetic match to Matt. But then of course with our current genetic science I was able to take that a step further. This hard-bodied beauty so busy licking my wrinkly old balls has Matt's exact DNA.
Free this boy? What an absurd idea. The boy was born and bred to be a slave. You know that it's impossible for bred slaves to adapt to free life. No, it would be cruel to remove this boy from the only life he knows.
Oddly enough, thinking back to my participation in getting Matt enslaved, perhaps I did a good turn? There are hundreds by now, literally hundreds of slaves who've been bred using at least some of Matt's DNA. Think of all the jism that's been spurted because men could possess a slave with that wonderful athletic body and those handsome features.
Yes, I'm feeling better about the whole thing. In all these years, this is the first time I'm telling the story. Good heavens, my old cock is actually sticking up stiff now. I've got my newest Matt licking the cheese from under my foreskin. Those lips are still the softest I've ever known. I know my grandsons will appreciate that mouth - and they'll have years of use out of all the other little Matts who are on their way.
In fact, I have enough of Matt's original sperm frozen that my grandson's grandsons will be able to fuck perfect replicas of Matt as young and as fresh as when Matt himself first came to visit this house. What a delightful notion!
Slave Defense Fund? What ever made me think that was a good idea? Now that I've told the story I know you'll have to report it to the court. That's fine with me. I'll be dead before they ever read your report. And now that I told that story I can die knowing I have no regrets - no regrets for anything I've done in my life.
Matt? The original you mean? He was my body slave for many years. When I got married my wife was a bit jealous. Well, after all, he was prettier than she was - I married her for a company merger and not her face.
I sent Matt off as a gift to that prematurely-balding skinny sissy I had known back at school. He had inherited his father's fortune and gone on to become a major industrialist. I didn't realize at the time that the skinny queen was a major partner in a big string of BDSM boy brothels. I believe Matt ended up out of the country - it was either Southeast Asia or the Arabian Peninsula.
I'm sure Matt is long gone. I kind of fancy my father's view of heaven. I hope when I get there Matt is on his knees ready to service his master as before with those soft lips.