Victor cursed himself for being such a damn old fool. Now, it was obvious to him he'd been set up. Why hadn't he seen it coming? Damn it, he was fifty-eight years old! He'd been playing poker since he was in his teens. How come Frank had been able to play him up like that?
Frank, now, that guy was something else. When he'd moved into the neighborhood, he'd seemed like a regular enough kind of guy. Of course, he was a bachelor, which was kind of strange for a guy in his early thirties. Well, to be truthful, it used to be strange, but not so much nowadays. The town had changed, in the last twenty years. It used to be all white working class people in the area, but then, all kinds of folks had moved in: colored folks, - Blacks, Hispanics, Asians - but also young artsy types, attracted by the cheap rents.
Frank seemed a mixture of all those. Obviously, he was of mixed parentage, although his was kind of hard to determine. He had long jet- black hair tied in a ponytail, a close-cropped moustache and beard, and dark skin. He had tattoos and you could see he had muscles under the loose, always dirty tee-shirts he wore, kind of a working-class biker type. But you never saw Frank go to work, at least not in the neighboring factories. He worked at home, if you could call it working. The place he'd bought was next to a garage -- well, it had been a garage ages ago -- and Frank had bought it along with the house he lived in, and he'd turned it into a workshop, where he fashioned strange objects with wood, metal and any old piece of garbage he could find, or so it seemed. Victor guessed this was art and Frank must be an artist. But not like any artist he'd ever seen -- not that he'd ever seen too many.
So there was Frank, a strange mixture of arty and earthy types, who strangely enough had become quite popular with the regular guys around the area. And that was because of one other thing he was good at -- playing poker. He had games at his place a couple of times a week and on weekends. That's how Victor had met him. Victor's neighbor, Sammy, had introduced them.
Sammy was a big black dude who worked in the same factory as Victor. He knew full well ol'Vic enjoyed his cards -- they'd had many a game at lunch break, over the years. Sam, well, he was a funny one too, very street- wise, always game for a night out - keeping shady company too. But Victor didn't mind, since Sammy hadn't involved him in anything shady. The card playing they did was always for fun. But he knew Sammy would play for money too. Over the years, he'd offered Victor to take him to some of those games, but the older man had never taken him up on his offer. Until Frank.
Why had he agreed to go and play at Frank's house? Was it because he lived so close to his own place? Because Sam had told him they didn't play for very high stakes at his poker games? Or because Victor had been curious to meet that strange guy he'd seen a couple of times in the area? Or a combination of all of the above? Whatever the reason or reasons, Victor had broken his self-imposed rule -- no playing for money. That had gotten him in trouble when he was young. Several times, he'd gotten so reckless he'd ended up owing people huge amounts of money. To pay up, he'd had to do things he'd spent decades trying to forget. So when he'd met Kathleen and decided to marry her, he'd set himself one firm rule, and that was no more playing for money.
So when he'd started attending Frank's poker games, Victor knew he was breaking the rule he'd stuck to for so many years -- he was 58, now, and he'd been married for thirty-five years -- but he consoled himself with the fact that the stakes he was playing for weren't very high. Sometimes he'd lose, sometimes he'd win, and all in all, it kind of evened out. In fact, after a few months, Victor had noticed that he was losing less and less often. Maybe he was getting the hang of the game at last, he'd thought half jokingly. Maybe he was ready for Frank's big games.
Coming over at Frank's to play a couple of times a week, Victor and him they had become buddies of a sort. One day, Frank had mentioned the big games he was taking part in, downtown.
"Big games?" Victor had said doubtingly. "How big?"
"You never wondered how I got the money to buy this house and the garage?" That was typical Frank -- he had a way of making you feel dumb.
"You mean youÉ You got the money that way?"
"Let's say it helpedÉ a lot."
That talk was nearly a year ago, and little by little, the desire had grown in Victor to play in one of those "big games". Every now and then, he'd talk to Frank about it, but the younger man wouldn't reveal too much. He'd hinted that maybe Victor wasn't good enough to play those kinds of stakes. Or maybe that he wasn't man enough. Or had he? Victor couldn't always remember who had brought up the subject of the "big games". Maybe Sammy did, a couple of times. He must've been interested too. Maybe he was the one who'd hinted at Victor not having the balls to do it -- also hinting that he, Sammy, had taken the plunge already.
Anyway, the short end of it was that Victor had taken part in a couple of those games. On the first one, he'd won and that had made him confident -- too confident. Because at the next game, he'd lost. More than he could afford to. That was bad, but Victor didn't panic -- he had a good job, his mortgage was paid off, his oldest son had already graduated college and the younger one was only one year away from graduation, so it looked as though he could whether the storm. But then came the news that the company he worked for was going to start laying off in most of their factories and -- wouldn't you know it -- two weeks later, he was among those who got the slip. At 58, there was no chance of him finding another job that paid as well as the one he had. And what he'd just lost at poker would just about be covered by his severance pay.
So Victor had panicked. He'd done a very stupid thing -- he had taken part in another game. He figured this time, he could make up for what he'd lost during that last game and maybe make a little extra. He wouldn't be so overconfident, he'd said to himself. It hadn't been easy to convince Frank to let him have another go.
"If you've just been laid off, how are you going to pay if you lose again?"
"I won't lose," Victor had said in a tone of bravado.
"You think you got the game figured out, huh?"
"Okay, so maybe I got a bit too cocky that last time. I gotta admit you're good. But just how good remains to be seen."
Frank hadn't taken the bait. He remained very calm. He always remained very calm. Even when he lost -- which wasn't often -- you'd hardly see him bat an eyelash.
"You certainly talk a good game. Double or nothing, then? Just between you and me. If you win, I'll pay off the other guys you owe. How does that sound?"
"Sounds good to me."
So they'd had their game, just the two of them. At first, it looked good for Victor. And of course, he got overconfident again. He had really underestimated Frank. This guy was head and shoulders above any player he'd ever met. The game had lasted for hours. When it was over, Victor was completely wiped out. He could barely manage to drive home and slump into bed.
He woke up late the following morning. His wife, Kathleen, was long gone. She was a waitress at a local fast-food joint. It didn't pay well but at least, it had a halfway decent health plan. Victor sat up in bed and stared at the wall opposite. Now he was in real trouble. He owed Frank so much money that even if he found a new job, it would take years to pay him off. He certainly couldn't help his son with his college tuition any longer. His oldest, Larry, had a good job, but he'd just decided to marry his girlfriend and their first baby was on the way, so he wouldn't have money to spare to help out poor ol' dumb Dad. Besides, Victor would never let his son help him. He had that much of a man left in him. He wouldn't have his family pay for his mistakes. He wouldn't even tell them.
Now that he no longer had a job to go to, he could do pretty much what he wanted with his days. He decided to go and see Frank. There was to be something he could do to get out of debt.
All the way to Frank's place, Victor cursed himself for being such a damn old fool. Now, it was obvious to him he'd been set up. How come Frank had been able to play him up like that? And what was it going to take to get himself out of debt, this time?
Frank was in his workshop, clanging at some piece of red hot metal. He vas wearing blue jeans and a white vest stained with soot. He had a leather apron on. He was quite muscular, really, one didn't realize it when seeing him fully clothed. Victor had long suspected him of being queer, but he sure didn't look like no faggot.
Frank didn't even turn to him, but he did acknowledge his presence : "Back already? I'm not having a game tonight, you know."
"Listen, you gotta get me off the hook."
"Can't do that and you know it."
"I'll do anything."
"So what do you want me to tell you to do? Go rob a bank? Go kill someone?"
"I know it doesn't look good."
"What's wrong with you, man? You think you can get yourself in that kind of trouble and then talk your way out of it?"
"I'm not trying to get out of paying you. Even If I worked two or three jobs, it would still take years for me to pay you."
"And you haven't even got one."
"How do you know that?"
"People will talk."
Frank had said that in his usual calm manner, but Victor had thought he'd heard a note of irony in his tone. How long had he known? Was he already aware he couldn't pay if he lost when he'd accepted the game? Probably. Why had he agreed to it, then? What did he want out of him?
"So you can't pay me." Frank said.
"No, I can't."
"And you say you'll do anything. Didn't you?"
"Yes, I did."
Now Frank was looking at him. His skin was glistening with sweat. With his very black hair, his brown skin, and the light from the forge where he was shaping the metal bar, all that made him look quite devilish. Victor wasn't superstitious, but he wondered what he was getting himself into.
"And just what kind of anything were you thinking of?"
Victor said nothing. He was at his wits' end. He looked down, unable to withstand the staring black eyes.
"Look up. Answer me."
"IÉ I'm sorryÉ" Victor could have cried. He was trapped. He felt trapped. The worst being that he knew he had trapped himself. There was a long silence. At least it felt long to Victor.
"Are you really ready for anything?"
Victor looked up. He didn't know what the question entailed, but it sounded like Frank was giving him a chance. He felt a surge of gratitude.
"YesÉ Yes I amÉ I'll do anything, anything! I'll suck your dick, I'll be your slaveÉ"
Just when he'd said it, Victor knew that was what Frank wanted. Frank looked him straight in the eyes. "Now that's an interesting offer. You'd be my slave?"
"YÉ Yes, I would." There was no turning back. It was the only way out. Obviously, Frank was a fag and he was interested in what Victor had to offer.
"You realize it'll take more than a couple of blow jobs to pay off what you owe me?"
"I do. IÉ I know what I'm doing."
"No you don't. You have absolutely no idea."
Victor shuddered. Was Frank going to back off? He was terrified at the idea.
"How old are you?" Frank asked all of a sudden.
"Fifty-eight."
"They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks."
"I'm not old."
"You're not exactly young either. If you were a pretty young thing, I could at least have you turn tricks for cash. You could pay me back that way. But who'd pay for a fat old fuck-up like you?"
The words stung. Usually, Victor would take no shit from anybody. Words like these, he would have fought over. But he couldn't. He had to take it.
"So what is it that I'm buying, then? A dog that's not that old? You think you can learn new tricks, dog?"
"YÉYes, I can."
"Yes SIR!"
"Yes, Sir ! I can learn new tricks, Sir!" This was really humiliating.
"All right, dog. Go stand in a corner with your hands on your head. I've got a job to finish. I'll take care of you when it's over."
Victor did as he was told. He felt silly. He hadn't done that since he was in primary school. And here he was, a grown man, a father of two grown boys, soon to be a grandfather, standing in a corner with his hands on his head like a disobedient schoolboy. Served him right for being such a damn old fool!
While Frank was going on with whatever work he'd been busy with, Victor had plenty of time to reflect. He was relieved, in a way, because it looked as though he'd be able to pay off his debt after all. But what was he going to have to do? Frank had mentioned blowjobs, turning tricks. Would he have to do that? Surely, nobody would be interested in having him blow them? Frank would have to be content with humiliating him, like he'd already started to do. And maybe do odd jobs around the house. That he could do. And take plenty of verbal abuse. At least, nobody would know.
Victor didn't know how long he stood in that corner with his hands on his head. It felt like hours, but it might have been only thirty or forty minutes. There was no way of telling. He wasn't in a hurry to find out what Frank had in store for his "slave".
Finally, it seemed as though the young man was finished with his work. Victor didn't dare to turn around and take a peek. Frank might see him. Victor didn't dare displease him. He had to make him feel he was getting his money's worth.
"All right, dog, come with me."
Victor turned around, too glad to be allowed to move. His arms ached. It was the second time he'd been called a dog, though, and he didn't like that.
They got out of the workshop and crossed the garden towards the house. Victor hoped nobody would see him. Silly, really. Who could tell what was going on?
Frank stopped in front of the door. He turned towards Victor.
"A slave doesn't come in his master's house like that. Strip."
"ErÉ Right here?"
"First, you do not question my orders. You just say "yes, sir" and do whatever you're told. Otherwise, I'll have to discipline you. Is that clear, dog?"
"YÉ Yes, sir."
"Now, strip."
"Yes, sir."
Now Victor was really worried somebody might see them. He had to do it as quickly as possible. Thankfully, this being summer, it could be done pretty quickly. He took off his tee shirt, his jeans, his sneakers. He felt a cool breeze on his white flesh. It was damn hot, but Victor shivered.
"W-Where can I leave my stuff, sir?"
"Just leave it down here, next to the door. Come on! Take off your shorts too!"
"Yes, sir." Please, please, Victor thought, let nobody see him. A fat, older guy taking his gear off in another man's backyard. How pervy could you get?
"On your knees," Frank said.
"Yes, sir."
"When we get in the house, I want you to walk on all fours. Is that clear, dog?"
"Yes, sir." Victor had answered as quickly as he could. He just wanted to get in the house, where nobody could see him.
Frank opened the door, stepped in. He held the door open.
"Get in and go to the TV room."
Thankfully, Victor knew his way around the place. He'd been there quite a few times. Whished he hadn't, but it was too late to cry over spilled milk.
"Come over, here, in front of the couch. I need a footstool."
Victor did as he was told. Frank sat down on the couch and put his legs on his back.
"You see, I can find some use for an old dog slave like you. Now, listen to me very carefully. You are now my slave. You will come to my place whenever I tell you to. No excuses. Excuses will be for your wife. Tell her whatever you want, I don't care. Just be there. Is that clear, dog?"
"YÉYes, sir."
"Now, whenever you are in my house, you'll be naked. You'll dress and undress outside, doesn't matter what the weather's like. Is that clear, dog?"
"Yes, sir."
"We'll have to find a proper dog name for you. I'll think about it."
Frank put his legs off.
"Turn around. Spread your cheeks, I wanna see your asshole, dog. C'mon, show me your dog butt."
Once again, Victor did as he was told. He had to put his head on the floor to keep his balance, while his hands held his buttcheeks wide open. God, this was humiliating! He couldn't believe he was doing it.
"Nice little asshole. Looks tight. You ever been fucked in the ass, dog?"
"No, sir."
"Hmm, as I thought. A nice little 58-year-old virgin asshole. I'm going to enjoy taking your cherry, pops."
Victor gulped. Now he was sure Frank was gay. And he said he was going to fuck him in the ass. It didn't seem as though he wanted to do it now, though. There was still time to prepare himself, Victor thought. But how could any man prepare himself for THAT?
"Get up on your knees. Turn around, face me. Put your arms behind your head. MmmÉ Not bad, for an old man. Not too flabby. You're not such a bad piece of slave meat. What do you say to that, dog?"
"Thank you, sir."
"I see you're learning. That's good."
Victor felt oddly flattered. It's true he wasn't in too bad a shape for a man his age. He had quite a beer belly, and he'd put on fat, but underneath, he still had some muscle. His hair was grey, now, but he still had all of it. His bushy moustache was almost white and his abundant body hair was all white.
"Not a bad piece of equipment either," Frank said, holding Victor's cock and balls. Victor had never been manhandled like that, not even by his wife.
"You still using it? I mean at home?"
"No, sir. Me and my wife, it's been some years." Why was he telling him that? He felt as though there was no secret he could keep from Frank.
"Wonder if it still works. C'mon, dog, jerk yourself off!"
Victor began masturbating. He was still kneeling, naked, in front of this much younger man, and now he was beating his meat because he'd been ordered to. He could feel his dick getting harder, too. This was so weird, but he wasn't about to complain. Pretty soon, he felt he was about to come.
"Stop it!" Frank's voice had barked the order. "Put your hands behind your back!"
Victor meekly did as he had been ordered.
"Now, listen to me carefully, dog slave. Once again, I'm only going to say it once. You do not come without asking your master's permission. Is that clear, dog?"
"Yes, sir."
"So what do you say, dog?"
"P-please, sir, may I come?"
"Lie down on your back. You'd better not stain my carpeting, or I'll have you lick it clean. Good. Now you may proceed, slave. I want to see you come."
Victor started to beat himself off again. It felt even better lying flat on his back. In less than a minute, he'd shot his load. Quite a big one it was, too. It splashed all over his big hairy chest and belly.
"Now, lick it off" Frank said.
"S-sir?" Victor was still a little dazed.
"You heard me, dog. You may sit down. I want you to lick yourself clean, like a good dog."
Victor had never done anything like that. Well, after all, it was his own cum, so it had to be okay, he thought. A bit disgusting, though. Victor had to repress the urge to throw up when the sticky goo went in his mouth. After a couple of gulps, he figured the taste wasn't so bad. Sooner than he thought, he'd licked his chest, belly and fingers clean.
"Good boy," Frank said. "On your knees again, dog. Hands behind your head. Good. Now tell me, dog: did you enjoy that?"
"Y-yes, sir. Yes I did."
"You better. You never know when you're going to have that kind of pleasure again. Now, come with me."
Frank got up the couch. Without thinking, Victor started to get up too, but a quick backwards glance from Frank made him remember -- he had to walk on all fours.
Frank went back to the door they'd come in. He stopped in front of it.
"On your knees, dog. Assume your position."
Victor knew what he meant, by now. He put his hands behind his head.
"Good dog. Look at me, dog. You're going to go back home now, and do whatever it is that middle-aged unemployed factory workers do. But you'll be back. Tonight."
"Sir, my wife, sir?"
"Tell her whatever you want. Tell her I asked you to fill for at a poker game. It's not really a lie. There will be a poker game tonight, but you won't be playing."
A look of fear must have appeared in Victor's eyes for all of a sudden, Frank's voice became reassuring.
"Don't be afraid. Nobody will see you. Nobody knows you're my slave. It's between you and me. Now, be off. I want you back at 8 sharp."
Frank opened the door and Victor crawled out, still dazed. As quickly as he could, he put on his discarded clothes and left.