Pleasing Mr. Petrov

PLEASING MR. PETROV

By Redbeard

(This is an adult erotic gay story. If such stories offend you or if it is illegal to read such stories where you're located, please go away now. If you can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy, go away quickly and get some help. However, this is not a slam-bang hard sex story! It is about the sexual tension of a young hetero teenage boy being undressed and embarrassed in front of (and along with) his hetero father. So it includes intergenerational and family themes along with nudity, humiliation, voyeurism and masturbation. You've been warned. Feedback to redbeardedsf at y a h o o dot c o m)

"Everything has a price!" Petrov had announced to me out of the blue. The remark had no bearing on the conversation we were having, but I had started to get used to the man's eccentricities -- or at least the ones I had learned about so far. He was one of the wealthiest men on the planet and if I could get him to sign a contract with me it would more than quadruple my income.

So here I was stretched out on a chaise lounge in the massive garden of the estate Petrov had rented for his California stay. He and I were both sipping some exotic drink his personal chef had prepared and watching my youngest son, Jonas, swing a baseball bat at a pitching machine. Jonas was the star of his school baseball team and was doing quite well against his mechanical opponent. The boy turned to us and called out, "Wow, dad, I wish we could have one of these at home!"

"Well, if Mr. Petrov decides to hire me I just might treat you to one." I turned quickly to gauge Petrov's reaction. It was well known that anyone who offended him -- or anyone who said "no" to him -- would be out the door. And yet he loved lively philosophical discussions. He acted as if he was too deep in concentration to have heard my remark to Jonas.

"Let's say there is some little brat with a puppy. I say to the brat I will give you a hundred dollars for the puppy, but the brat loves the little dog -- his best friend, if you will -- and is frantic about how he could never part with the puppy. Besides, what does a hundred dollars mean to a child? But then I say to him to give me the dog and I will give his family a house with a swimming pool and another beachfront house for holidays and his bedroom will have a wide-screen TV and all the game systems he could want. How fast would that little brat toss the puppy into my arms?"

I tried to chuckle in response, but he looked deadly serious. I stammered something about how perceptive his story was and he looked very displeased. Petrov had made it clear that he "cannot stand these mewling sycophants." I had smiled and agreed with him then as well. Damn, it was a difficult dance trying to do business with this mysterious billionaire.

By most standards I'd be considered wealthy. As an attorney and investment advisor, I had earned around half a million a year for the preceding decade. But with my oldest son in grad school and the twins in their third year of college, plus the private school for Jonas and my wife's extravagances, my money didn't go far. Besides, if I didn't drive a flashy expensive car and send all my sons to the very best schools none of my current clients would want to associate with me. In addition, I had made some unwise investment decisions and was working hard to keep my impending bankruptcy secret. I had to keep on appearing prosperous or the game was over.

Petrov's contract would be worth two-million a year to me. But first I had to get the elusive billionaire to sign with me. He'd come to my home for dinner. My jet-setting wife had even agreed to be there and pretend we had a happy marriage for the sake of our guest. Petrov had seemed most interested in talking with my youngest son.

Jonas is the only child still left at my home -- he was the birth control accident that marked the beginning of the end for my marriage (we had planned on two children, Jonas was our fourth). For some reason I got noble about wanting my wife, Pamela, to carry the baby to term. She told me that this last son would be mine to raise. Her constant travels and partying since his birth proved she was serious about her threat. So here I was pushing fifty and my homelife revolved around a boy in the seventh grade.

Not that I would ever admit openly to any regret about my decision. Jonas was a great kid, most popular boy in his school, star player at soccer, swimming and baseball, and very good looking. I know that sounds like a parent boasting. In fact, all my sons are handsome. But Jonas is simply extraordinary. People turn their heads. Living in Southern California I'd been barraged with offers to put him in commercials or TV shows. But I've dealt with too many nut cases in show business to subject him to that. A father has to protect his son, right?

Jonas didn't understand why he had to come with me to see Mr. Petrov. He's a bright kid so I explained to him just how much money was at stake and how Petrov was eccentric. We even joked and laughed on the ride over. "If Mr. Petrov asks you to eat octopus, what are you gonna do?" "I'll think about daddy's extra two-million a year." "If Mr. Petrov asks you to dig a ditch, what are you gonna do?" "I'll think about daddy's extra two-million a year." We worked out a signal -- I would rub my chin if I was worried that Jonas was going to do anything to offend or annoy the Russian billionaire.

When we arrived, with Jonas in a dressy shirt and pants, Petrov immediately asked why I didn't let the boy be comfortable in jeans and t-shirt. A little later when the financier saw Jonas's reaction to the pitching machine, he insisted he would have a servant set it up. Jonas ended up retrieving an old pair of sneakers from the trunk of my car and going shirtless for his batting practice.

My host picked up his drink and walked closer to the batting cage where my son's sweaty body glistened. I followed not sure where Petrov would take our conversation next. His knack for surprising me continued when he turned and said, "The boy is wearing boxer shorts? You let a boy of this age wear boxer shorts?"

Indeed, there were a few inches of brightly patterned boxer shorts showing above the waistband of my son's gray school pants. I was flustered and said, "All the boys his age... um, he was quite insistent... he said he'd be embarrassed...."

"He was insistent?" Petrov said, a note of outrage in his voice. "A good father does not let a child dictate. It is a matter of health. A boy of this age needs the support for his equipment." With that Petrov emphasized his point by hefting his own balls.

A servant had silently come up beside us to replace our finished drinks. Petrov began yelling at the cowering man in Russian, talking a mile a minute. The servant left our fresh drinks and disappeared in a flash. Petrov headed back to our lounges asking me about which American technologies I thought had the best chance for big profits in the next decade.

It was a relief that the subject of my son's underpants had been dropped. But less than a half hour later a different servant appeared and handed Petrov a bag from a discount store. Petrov reached into the bag and pulled out packages of white boys' briefs -- Hanes, Fruit of the Loom, Jockey, and some generic store brand. The rich man's voice was commanding as he said, "Get the boy over here."

Jonas' bare chest and tummy were sweat-soaked and his curly brown hair was glued to his head from the batting helmet he had been wearing. I never got a chance to say a word before Petrov pulled a pair of the white Fruit of the Loom briefs out of its package and handed them to Jonas with a command of "Put these on, boy."

My son began to hedge, "But I don't wear..." but I rubbed my chin urgently. He got the signal. He bunched the white cotton in his hands and asked, "Wh-where should I go to change, sir?"

"Where to go?" Petrov said as if he didn't understand the question. "Nobody can see in here. It's very private. It's only me and your father here. Nothing to be modest about."

Jonas looked at me with a panicky expression. "I'm sorry, Mr. Petrov," I said quickly trying to save the situation. "I know you're right about Jonas acting too modest. But American boys his age are very shy about their bodies in front of strangers."

"Go," Petrov commanded with a wave of his hand. "Behind that tree." The tree wasn't all that wide. I rubbed my chin and motioned with my head for Jonas to proceed and do as he was told. He took the small pair of underpants and stepped behind the tree. As I would have expected, he turned his back to us even before he started taking off his sneakers.

Unfortunately for my boy's modesty, as he hopped around on one leg taking down his gray slacks he didn't realize that he had moved away from the tree. In fact, when he bent over to take his boxer shorts off, Petrov and I both had an unobstructed view of his entire slim 5'3" body. I looked over at Petrov at that point, a fright running down my spine. As the father of a boy who was so beautiful, I was very aware of men perving on my son. Was Petrov one of those men? The idea turned my stomach.

Petrov turned to me and just as if he was asking the weather he inquired, "Does the boy have pubic hair yet?"

My mouth was dry as I stammered but no sound came out. Finally I mumbled, "I don't know."

Jonas approached us warily with two inches of Fruit of the Loom waistband showing over the waistband of his slacks. He held his shoes and his boxer shorts. Petrov ignored the boy and railed against me, "You don't know? No wonder he acts so strange about his body. A boy this age -- a father should be checking on his development often. When is the last time you saw your son naked?" Jonas stopped in his tracks when he heard that last question bellowed out.

In a quiet voice I answered, "It must have been years ago." Just two minutes earlier I was suspecting Petrov of being some sort of perv ogling my son. Now I was feeling like a failure as a father. I looked from Jonas to the billionaire and back again.

The rich man turned to Jonas and in a solicitous voice asked, "I thought you were close with your father? If you are close like this and you trust him, why would you not be willing to let your father see you out of your clothes?"

Oh lord! Jonas was shivering even though it was nearly 80- degrees. His voice was even weaker than mine as he said, "I g-guess I'd be emb-b-barrassed, sir." I was the boy's father. I was supposed to save him from situations like this. But, Petrov seemed intent. And this man held my financial future in his hands. Was he testing me?

"Would you be embarrassed, boy, because you are still small and you have no hair yet?" The old man's voice sounded kind but he motioned with his pinky finger.

Jonas nearly shouted, "I have some... umm, hair... a little bit."

Petrov spread his arms wide. "You should share such a joyous fact with your father, boy! Every father is proud when his son shows signs of becoming a man." Then the billionaire seemed thoughtful for a moment before continuing, "You're probably just shy because you are afraid you will have an erection in front of your father. But that's OK. That is one of the things your father should be checking to see that his son is OK in his development." He turned to me with a note of finality, "You agree with me, right?"

I gasped. The old man and the boy were both looking at me. "I suppose they have different ideas about raising sons in Russia," I mumbled. Then I watched my son fiddling with his boxer shorts in front of his crotch and realized that the boy had an erection showing through the front of his pants. I looked away quickly. I knew for certain my son was completely heterosexual. When I found porn on his computer it was female only. And I knew for a fact he had already fucked a very pretty girl who was a grade ahead of him at school.

Mr. Petrov was ranting now: "And look at the kind of boys you raise: Sissy boys who are scared to get their hands dirty; Spoiled brats who expect life to be handed to them on a platter; children who make such drama about the sight of their tiny putzes! This is like the generation of effete lieutenants that marked the twilight of the British Empire!" Then he turned to me and said, "How can you say you are close to your son when you don't even know this boy? Have him strip naked for you."

Once again my mouth was moving without saying anything. Finally I babbled, "B-but we're outside. It seems so...."

Petrov lifted his weight from the lounge and announced, "You are right. We will be sensitive to the boy's nervousness. We will go inside." It was obvious yhe corner I'd just painted us into -- since I'd used being outside as the excuse for not having Jonas undress, going inside would remove that excuse.

We followed the big Russian into the mansion. My son looked up at me with pleading eyes and I just rubbed my chin. How long could this continue before I rubbed my chin raw?

Petrov led us downstairs into a windowless locker room that adjoined the mansion's gymnasium. He grinned and said, "Here! This is a location where it would be natural that a father and his son would take off their clothes." Then he sat down facing us in a black leather armchair. Jonas and I stood between two benches, between two rows of lockers, facing each other, both of us nervous.

I looked to Petrov and he motioned to me. The ball was in my court. I sat on a bench with my son in front of me, cleared my throat and said, "Jonas, take off your pants."

"Da-a-a-ad, ple-e-e-ease," he whimpered.

I glanced over at Petrov and knew that if I stopped this now I would be ruined financially. As calmly as I could, I looked right at Jonas and said, "Look, son, I think Mr. Petrov has made some good points. Boys in this country are too modest about their bodies. It creates an atmosphere where any acknowledgement of body development or sexual... umm, err... anything about your sex organs becomes... umm...." That's where I started losing my train of thought. I took a deep breath and said, "Now, son, I can already see you have an erection. I don't see any harm in you getting yourself naked right now."

Jonas's face was as red as tomato juice and the blush went all the way down his bare chest. He let the boxer shorts drop from his hand as he unsnapped and unzipped his slacks and let them fall. Then I looked over at Petrov again. Once more my spine shivered with the question of whether this rich old man was perving on my cute young son. I had spent years trying to protect my beautiful boy from homosexuals. Now was I forcing Jonas to put on a free show for a rich man's twisted lusts? I almost laughed to myself at that thought. It was hardly a "free show" if Petrov ended up paying me millions of dollars over the next few years.

That's when I realized that my own penis was thickening in my pants. Why? This made no sense. I knew I was always 100% heterosexual. I had never been aroused by the sight or the thought of a male body. Even when I was growing up, I never indulged in sex play with other boys. The idea just turned my stomach. But now as my teenage son was stripped to his white briefs, my penis was hard in my pants.

I reassured myself -- it's all this talk about nakedness and cocks and erections that's getting my juices flowing; also my son undressing while acting so nervous and shy was somehow arousing. I shook my head aware that I could clearly see the outline of Jonas's hard penis through the thin fabric of the underpants. There was a wet spot that was spreading out across the white cotton. Jonas pulled off each of his socks, clearly trying to kill time. I nodded to him and he slowly peeled down his white briefs then stepped out of them. Jonas tried to keep his hands in front of him as he shifted from one leg to the other.

Petrov crashed through the nerve-wracking silence with a loud, "So where is this hair? The boy said he has hair. I see no hair."

"It's more like fuzz," Jonas whispered barely audible.

"Do you see hair on the boy?" Petrov asked me bluntly. I shrugged my shoulders. There was no answer I could give that would please Petrov and still not humiliate my son. Changing directions, the old Russian told me, "Now you can ask the boy questions."

"What kind of questions?" I dumbly mumbled.

Petrov took the lead and turned to Jonas with, "Boy, how often do you masturbate?"

I thought my son would fall over then and there. He gasped and looked at me, his eyes pleading. I just pulled at my chin once more. That was our signal that he should be cooperative with the eccentric billionaire. Petrov sneered at me, "Are you getting a rash on your chin?"

Jonas composed himself admirably given the situation and softly said, "A few times a week, sir."

"Put our your hands, boy!" Petrov commanded. He stood from his comfortable chair and positioned Jonas's arms stretched in front of him, with his palms down. Oh fuck! Was this crazy old man going to swat my naked son's hands with a ruler? Where would I draw the line on humoring this multi- billionaire? Then Petrov put a lightweight coin on the back of each of Jonas's hands. "This is better than lie detector, boy. If you tell a lie, coin will shake. If you tell the truth, coin will be still."

Petrov stretched out again in his leather easy chair and once more asked, "How often do you masturbate, boy?"

I was shocked by how totally naked my youngest son now looked. With his arms up, standing tall, it was like he was posing for us, or awaiting some examination. He was hyperventilating and the redness in his face and chest was glowing. His mouth moved but no response came to the embarrassing question. Finally, he gasped, "Every day, sir... umm, two times a day... umm, or sometimes more than two times a day, sir." When he reached the end of his answer the coins on the backs of his hands stopped shaking.

Petrov was ready with his next embarrassing question. "Have you measured your penis, boy?"

"Yes, sir," Jonas quietly confessed. I saw that he was looking down at the floor and understood why he didn't want to meet my eyes.

"And your size at the present time?"

Jonas's boyhood looked stiff as a nail. It was sticking upright against his flat tummy and his hairless balls were tucked up snug against his body. He cleared his throat and said, "four and a quarter, sir." The coins were shaking. Jonas cleared his throat again and then said, "three and three quarters inches, sir." The coins stopped shaking.

Petrov had a huge grin as he turned to me and said, "You see. I have already brought you closer to your son. You have to agree that now you know important information on his growing up that you might have missed otherwise."

I realized from his pause that the old Russian was waiting for me to agree. I quietly acknowledged his wisdom, hoping to end this ordeal. But Petrov pressed on telling me to ask my son other questions. I blurted out, "Have you fucked a girl, Jonas?" I hoped this would be a way to help my son get back some of his dignity.

"Yes, sir," my boy announced smiling. "Susannah from the eighth grade." The coins were not shaking.

"Very good," Petrov bellowed. "Did she also give you oral sex, boy?"

"N-not really, sir. She kissed it a couple of times, but that's all." This line of questioning was getting Jonas more relaxed. In spite of his nudity and awkward pose this was something he could boast about.

"Have you ever gotten a blowjob from anyone, boy?"

Jonas got a stricken look on his face and the coins were shaking like Santa's sleigh. "I g-guess so, sir."

"You guess so, boy? That's an odd answer. Who gave you this blowjob you guess you got?"

"Please, dad, do I have to answer?" Now my boy met my eyes.

Petrov looked to me. He was going to defer to me now. But I knew that Petrov would judge my decision at this point. Quietly I said, "I think this has been constructive, Jonas. It's OK. I promise not to be mad about anything you tell me."

Jonas looked down at the floor and was hyperventilating as he quickly said, "A person... umm, in a men's room... b-but I didn't go in there for that. I just went in to pee. And I didn't do anything back to him. And it was all over in less than a minute. He p-put his mouth... umm, err... and it was all over and I stuffed it away and ran out of there." With that both coins dropped from the backs of Jonas's hands. He fell to his knees to retrieve the coins, apologizing profusely. It wasn't clear whether he was apologizing for dropping the coins or for the incident that happened in a men's room.

My son stood up and placed one coin on the back of his left hand. I reached forward and helped place the other coin on the back of his other hand. I was shaken and my mind was spinning. I asked, "How long ago did this happen?"

"J-just after my last birthday, dad. I went to spend my birthday money."

For a moment I had forgotten about Petrov. But he now burst into the conversation and asked, "Did the faggot try to put his meat into your behind?"

"No way," Jonas called out loudly. Then he remembered himself and added, "Sir."

Unfazed, Petrov continued, "Did the faggot try to force you to your knees to take his meat into your mouth, boy?"

"N-no, sir." Jonas scrunched up his face with a disgusted look.

"Did the faggot try to get you to play with his meat?" My son again answered in the negative and Petrov turned to me to calmly ask, "So why do you look so upset for your son, papa?" Then he chuckled.

At that point I couldn't help myself. I had to ask, "Jonas, have you ever masturbated together with any of your friends?"

I was pleased when my boy quickly answered, "No way, dad. Some guys wanted to do that kinda stuff but that just..." He made a face and shuddered but the coins on his hands remained perfectly still.

"The man who sucked your cock," Petrov interrupted. "Did you see his meat?"

"N-not really." Now he seemed less sure of himself and the coins shook just slightly. "Well, a little bit, sir. He was... umm... he had his hand around it and his hand was moving pretty fast." I had thought my son couldn't blush any deeper than he had already, but this revelation sent him to a new level.

"Have you ever had a good look at a grown up man's hairy naked penis?"

"No, sir," he announced decisively. "I'm not gay at all."

"Well of course not," Petrov said solicitously. "But a boy your age is certainly curious. You are curious to know what pubic hair feels like, right? You are curious about what your meat will look like when you're a grown man, right?"

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir." Jonas answered in a forthright and direct way.

Petrov turned to me and matter-of-factly said, "Go on then, papa. Show your boy what he will look like when he gets hairy and big."

I looked at the wealthy man as if I didn't understand what he had just said. He elaborated, "Look how much closer you are to your son, how much more comfortable you will be with him now that he is no longer hiding himself from you. Now it's your turn to take off your clothes."

Jonas quickly piped up, "Yeah, dad, it's only fair."

My cock was still fully erect in my pants. I saw no way out of this. I swallowed hard and decided my best course of action was to make light of it all. I laughed as I pulled off my shirt and tugged up my white undershirt. I tried to maintain my smile as I pulled off my shoes and socks. All that time I remained sitting.

When I stood up there was no way I could hide the outline of my erect penis in the front of my slacks. Jonas glanced down and said, "Wow," even as he kept holding the coins on the backs of his hands.

Ever since I entered college I've been described as "all man" -- 6'3" with broad shoulders, a great chest, and powerful arms and legs. Thirty years later my chest was more built up and covered with a thick mat of hair, my arms and my body hair were all thicker, but I'd kept myself fit. Sure, my waistline had increased and my tummy no longer had six-pack definition. But I played racquetball and swam and lifted weights. I knew that looking good and being in great shape were positive assets for a businessman like me.

I didn't have anything to be ashamed of about my body -- certainly not my thick 8 inch circumcised cock. But as I unbuckled my belt I was very much aware that I had never before knowingly displayed my erect cock in front of any guy. Now I was about to reveal everything in front of two males -- my naked and erect young son and this quirky Russian senior citizen.

Once I stepped clumsily out of my pants, I knew that my thick erection was prominently displayed in my white boxer briefs. I took a deep breath and pushed them down from my hips. My hairy dick popped up sticking out prominently from my body, but less than half-way of the nearly 180-degree angle of my son's upright boner.

I caught sight of the scene in a mirror. My son and I were both naked from head to toe, facing each other, each fully erect. Beside us was Petrov, the eccentric financier, with his hand down inside his pants. Oh fuck! Not only was that old creep perving on my son, he was also perving on me. How much did it turn him on knowing he had a father and son for his own private nude show?

Jonas finally broke the silence to say, "Does yours get any stiffer than that, dad?"

Did I hear a chuckle from Petrov? I stammered, "When I was your age mine stood upright against my belly like yours."

"You can drop the coins, boy." When Petrov said that my son immediately let the coins on his hands drop to the floor as if he was following a command. Then Petrov continued, "Don't you want to know what his chest hair feels like, boy? Of course you do. Go on. Your father certainly won't mind."

Jonas's eyes met mine and I just stayed silent and expressionless. His fingers played in the thick hair on my chest. My nipples have always been especially sensitive and they stand out like erasers in the thick forest of hair. When his fingers brushed over my nipples I couldn't help but shiver all over. I know that my cock twitched and leaked a little pre-cum at that point.

"Don't you wonder, boy," Petrov's voice became almost hypnotic now. "You must wonder whether the hair around that big penis of his feels the same as the hair on his chest. Go on, boy, have a feel of the hair. The hair you'll eventually have will be just like it. You deserve to know what it will feel like, boy."

Now my son had one hand brushing over my chest while his other hand played in the hair just above and around my hard cock. His wrist made contact with my erection. I felt him pull his hand back just a bit, probably a reaction to the wetness from my cock head. But before he could take his hand away, Petrov cooed, "Feel the hair on his balls, little one. I know you're eager to get hair on your balls, aren't you, boy?"

When Jonas's fingers made contact with my heavy balls I had no time to react. My fat hard-on jerked and pulsated with a mind of its own and began shooting string after string of hot cream. I watched unable to control myself as thick globs of my sperm landed across my son's slim chest. I blinked and was aware that there was a line of thick white liquid that ran down and across his pretty face. His upper lip dripped spunk and the line continued down his lower lip to his chin. Oh good lord! My straight teenage son had gotten some of his own dad's cum on his tongue.

But before I had time to react to that I became aware of a new round of wetness splashing against my hairy chest. I looked down and saw Jonas's fist wrapped around his very stiff tool. There was one more shot of my son's youthful sperm that blasted out of the head and landed in my chest hair. Then he collapsed against me as if his knees wouldn't hold him up.

How had this happened? I know I'm straight. I felt equally certain my son was straight. I glanced to the side. Petrov seemed out of breath. Was that a wet spot on the front of his pants? I didn't want to stare in that direction. I didn't want to know the answer to that question. Petrov pointed in the direction of the showers.

Jonas and I silently went into a large tiled room with six showerheads. We had barely set the water temperature when Petrov entered the tiled room equally naked. He was a big man in every direction -- even taller than me and with a large belly. And yet all his heft seemed solid, his belly did not jiggle. His cock was not erect, but it stuck away from his body and the uncut tube looked thick as my boy's arm. Petrov took the showerhead on the other side of Jonas and immediately began chatting about what a positive experience this had been for a father and son. I stayed silent.

Then Petrov started touching Jonas's arms and remarking about how the boy was beginning to get some muscle development. "If this boy has a good exercise routine his muscles will be truly wonderful a year from now and two years from now. Three years from now he will be quite a sight to see."

There was a silent plea in Jonas's eyes and I didn't dare rub my chin anymore since Petrov had picked up on our cue. Petrov's fingers were squeezing my naked son's shoulders and then his pecs. I pretended I didn't see and just turned my back to soap myself. There was too much at stake. I couldn't risk alienating the multi-billionaire now. I tried to comfort myself with that thing Petrov had pointed out about the man who gave Jonas the blowjob -- he hadn't tried to stick his dick in my boy's ass or his mouth. What long-term harm could there be from Petrov touching Jonas's arms and chest?

I spun around when I suddenly heard a little "yip" sound. There was an alarmed look on Jonas's face and a sly grin on Petrov's face. Had Petrov pinched my son's nipples?

"Oh you Americans! You insist on taking away all the sensitivity from a man's cock! Neither of you has any skin." I noticed then that Petrov's cock had thickened and was longer than before. But the foreskin still covered the head of it. The man came up beside Jonas and said, "Feel what a skin is like, boy. Feel how a skin is pulled back."

I scrubbed my face. I didn't want to have to respond to my son's next plaintive look. When I rubbed the water from my eyes I saw Jonas's fingers encircling the old Russian's foreskin and pushing it back up the length of his massive tool. Petrov now had a hard-on. He had managed to get the boy's hand on his penis while I stood silently by.

But the multibillionaire stepped away and pointed to my boy's crotch as he said, "The wonder of youth, eh? Stiff once again. Go on, boy, show your papa how you masturbate."

"Daddy?" Jonas gasped, his eyes wide.

"Your father should have checked on you long before this, boy. It's a father's responsibility to teach a son about his growing body. It is better that he start this late than never, boy. Now show your father how you play with it, little one." Petrov was barking orders and my son didn't dare disobey. I watched as Jonas's trembling fingers slid around his erect penis and he slowly began stroking himself.

But Petrov was not finished. "And you, papa," he announced decisively. "It's important to teach your boy that taking care of his needs is not a shameful thing. It's important to teach him how a real man masturbates. Go on, then!"

Why did I follow his command? Staring right at my son I put my fingers around my hard cock and rubbed it up and down quickly. Less than an hour before I had shown my erection for the first time in front of another male and now here I was jerking off in front of my naked son and the naked old Russian eccentric.

I didn't pay attention to where Mr. Petrov had gone. My young son and I simply faced each other and masturbated until Jonas gasped and I saw a string of white liquid shoot from his cockhead. My cock followed. The sperm spilled down the drain. I tried to catch my breath. I couldn't bring myself to look at Jonas.

How had this happened? Nothing made any sense. How had I allowed the twisted old Russian to take such liberties with my son's hairless young body? And how had I shot two loads of cum in such quick succession when deep down I knew I was disgusted by everything I'd seen. It was only weeks later that I realized my drink had likely been drugged with a strong erection medication.

At that moment, after shooting off in the shower, I seemed to be alone with my son. We returned to the locker room and dressed in silence. Jonas softly spoke, "You know I'm straight, dad."

"Yes, of course," I cut him off. "And you know I'm totally straight, right, son?"

We put our clothes on but Jonas didn't have a shirt. As we wandered from the locker room, I turned and said, "It's just that they do things differently in Europe. The way they feel about bodies and nudity and masturbation is... well...." I didn't know how to finish that sentence. I didn't believe a word of it anyway. Fuck! I had allowed a dirty old man to perv on my thirteen-year-old son's body!

I thought of an old joke in which a businessman asks a pretty girl if she would have sex with him for a million dollars. She laughs and says that of course she would. So then he asks if she would give him a blowjob for fifty bucks. "What kind of girl do you think I am?" she snaps outraged. He answers, "We've already established that. Now we're just negotiating the details."

Then a servant appeared seemingly out of nowhere and handed Jonas a clean T-shirt. He directed us to the small dining room where a light supper would be served.

Petrov was a gracious host alternating between business discussions with me and inquiring about Jonas's interests. When Jonas mentioned his class project about the American Civil War, Petrov got onto one of his rants about the subject of slavery.

"Slavery is such a distasteful word," he almost spat. "And yet your country has had a long and honorable history with indentured servitude. Any of those fancy blueblood Americans who trace their family trees back to colonial days had at least one ancestor who came to your shores as an indentured servant." I feigned interest, deeming this a safe and impersonal topic. "It made sense. If you are a young man with no money, no prospects for your future, from a family that is strapped for cash, and you want to start a new life in America, there is no way you can afford the trip across the ocean. So you indenture yourself in return for the cost of the passage over."

"Yes but that's way back in history," Jonas said.

"Hardly, my boy." Petrov shook his head. "How many of the people working in the kitchen of your Chinese restaurant or your Mexican restaurant are paying off years of debt to someone who managed to get them into your country?"

Then Mr. Petrov got on the subject of his country. While everyone referred to Petrov as Russian there were questions about his actual nation of origin. But when the man referred to "his" country, it was understood that he meant, Narutu, the Pacific Island nation where he had made his home for the last twenty years.

Narutu had achieved freedom from colonial control in the 60s and was then ravaged by multinational companies for its natural resources. Once the resources were depleted, the economy collapsed. There were fewer than 30,000 residents in the island chain when Petrov moved there. He was responsible for the financial turn-around of the beautiful little nation and in return he essentially ran the country as he liked. He was merely an unofficial adviser to the president. But it was understood that Petrov wrote the laws to suit himself.

I remembered then that indentured servitude was part of the code of law on Narutu. Petrov explained, "Now it is a place where people lead a good life. So what do we do about people wanting to come live there? Even people with family roots back there? Do we allow another million people to crowd onto the islands and then the quality of life goes down for everyone? Or do we go crazy like the Americans about keeping new people out? Or do we only allow in people with a lot of money to begin with?"

"So how do you do it?" Jonas asked clearly interested.

"No term of indentured servitude lasts longer than five years," the old man pontificated. "It is handled on a case- by-case basis. The same is true if a family wants a loan to build a new house or start a business or send one of their children off to school in America. This is what helps the economy thrive on Narutu."

"But if the head of the household is indentured -- essentially working without pay -- how can he support his family for the five years?" I asked, caught up in the conversation now.

"More often than not where a family is concerned, they indenture one of the children." As if reading our shocked expressions he said, "There is one young man who is now a freshman at Princeton in your country. His family can pay this exorbitant tuition because he has just completed a five- year indenture serving in my household. They saw how brilliant he was as a child. And while in my service I saw to it that he kept up his studies so he would be prepared for college. Was this not a wise choice then for the boy?"

Petrov continued eating waiting to see if we would react. Then he added on a light note, "And the boy was also very beautiful, a wonderful young athlete, much like your son here."

My head spun and I was hyperventilating. I put the pieces together. There was a very beautiful boy who had been an indentured servant in his household! I thought about how my naked son's fingers had been placed on the Russian billionaire's foreskin. What had the beautiful athletic Narutuan boy had to do for Petrov in the shower?

I thought for a moment that I would pass out. One of the most controversial laws passed by the Narutu legislature (at the behest of their wealthy patron) had lowered the age of consent for sexual relations. In America the age was eighteen and in Great Britain it was sixteen. But in Narutu, my young hairless son would be considered legal age, just as that Narutuan Princeton freshman would have been my son's age five years earlier.

And what if the Narutuan boy hadn't consented to sex with Mr. Petrov? The answer is simple: An indentured servant does not control his own consent. It is the master who controls the life of the indenture -- the master who has the choice to give consent.

But I didn't have time to dwell on such thoughts. Petrov produced a contract that must have weighed five pounds and placed it on the dining table beside my plate. "It is even more generous than you had hoped for," he said with a gentle smile on his face.

Suddenly I regretted all the nasty things I had thought about the eccentric billionaire. But before I could lift up the contract, Jonas complained about stomach pains. Petrov was solicitous and helped my son from the table.

"Maybe I should just drive him home now," I said. But when I stood up I felt terribly dizzy.

"I couldn't hear of such a thing. What if you both have gotten sick from something in the food here? Come. I know what the boy needs."

Petrov had his big bear arm around my son's shoulder and led him quickly down a hallway as I followed behind. He called out something to a servant who hurried out. Then Petrov led my son into a large ornate bathroom and said, "The boy simply needs to be cleaned out."

For a moment I didn't understand but then the servant brought in an enema bag and a kit for administering enemas. "Oh, no," I cried out. "I couldn't put you to that bother. I'll take him home and...."

"I used to do this for my own sons when they were little," the big man laughed. He ordered my son to take all his clothes off. Jonas whimpered and looked at me, but what was the use of protesting at this point after everything else we had already been through.

I fell back into a chair and watched as Jonas undressed, even as the boy was trying to say that his stomach felt a little better. Why was my head spinning so terribly? Petrov put a towel along the edge of the tub and bent Jonas's naked body forward so that his butt was sticking up. My bleary eyes managed to focus on the old man's thick Vaseline-covered finger as it prodded at my boy's butthole.

Did I black out for a moment there? I opened my eyes. Petrov had one hand resting on my son's hairless butt cheeks and his other hand was massaging the boy's water-bloated stomach. The old Russian had removed his shirt and his hairy shoulders were displayed in the white ribbed athletic shirt he wore. I thought I saw an erection tenting the front of his pants, but I couldn't be sure.

When Petrov commanded my son to sit on the toilet and let out the water that was filling his bowels, I tried to stand up but I fell over. I heard Petrov call out, "This man needs a doctor. Get him to my personal physician immediately." I couldn't open my eyes but I heard Jonas's voice, "I'll go with him." "Nonsense," Petrov laughed. "Your butt will be filthy. But don't worry, little one. I'll get in the shower and help wash you." The last thing I heard before blacking out was Jonas crying out, "Daddy!"

I opened my eyes and saw a nurse hovering over me. I looked around and saw that I was in my own bedroom at home. The nurse called to my wife who came bustling into the room with a big warm smile on her face. Maybe my afternoon at Petrov's had all been a dream?

My wife leaned over and kissed my forehead. Why was she being so nice to me? "Mr. Petrov had his own doctor take care of you. He said you had an allergic reaction to something in the food. Petrov was so upset and apologetic about it. He said he was used to the spices but they were unusual for Americans."

"When...?" I mumbled.

"You and Jonas were over there on Sunday and it's Tuesday now. Petrov's doctor gave you something to help calm you and to help you sleep." Then she sat on the side of the bed and produced the heavy contract. "And look what a winner I'm married to. The contract is for one-million dollars instead of two-million. But then there's another three-million that goes directly to an offshore corporation that you've been made president of."

There was my signature on the contract. But I didn't remember signing it.

"Wh-what about Jonas? Is he OK?"

"Jonas is more than OK, honey. He's off to spend the summer in a tropical Pacific paradise. How's that for a treat for a thirteen-year-old boy?"

I gasped. "Petrov took Jonas with him?"

"Dear Mr. Petrov was so upset that the food made both of you ill that he insisted he wanted to do that for Jonas. He said there were a lot of boys around Jonas's age on his estate. He said they barely wore any clothes at all."

"Did you talk to Jonas?"

"Jonas was in the limo with Mr. Petrov when they came to get some clothes I packed for him. But the doctor had given Jonas a sedative to calm him so he was slurring his words. He seemed excitable so I told him to just rest and everything would be fine."

The nurse brought me tea and toast. I began to thumb through the contract. On page 147 I finally found the part I was looking for. My son Jonas was now Mr. Petrov's "ward" for the next five years. The thick legal language went on from there but I understood the intent. My cute young son was Petrov's indentured servant on his estate in Narutu, governed by the laws of that island nation with all that entailed.

I felt the blood drain from my face. Petrov had been right. Everything did have a price.

With Jonas gone my marriage to his mother improved. She hadn't wanted the one additional son. She had been unwilling to raise him. Now that we were wealthy with all our other children away at college, I was able to enjoy the high life with my wife. We rediscovered our sex life and remembered what we had liked about being together.

It was almost a month before I saw Petrov again. But I only saw him long-distance on my computer screen during a video conference call. He was shirtless and tanned and seemed in a jolly mood. As he was approving most of my investment suggestions he kept closing his eyes and pursing his lips. Then he would grin and moan a little bit. I saw the way his body was swaying. Oh fuck! Was he getting a blowjob during our video conference?

His breathing was coming in thick pants now. Given his situation I didn't want to ask the next question, but it would seem odd for me not to. So I tried to keep my voice steady as I inquired, "How is Jonas doing there?"

"Jonas?" The big Russian had a wide grin on his face as he said, "It has not been easy for him to adapt but he is a quick learner. And he is so lovely and charming." The man gasped loudly and shouted, "Lovely and charming! Yes!" Petrov threw back his head and moaned, his hands pushing down though I cold not see what was below the camera range. He quietly whispered, "Now lick it clean."

I should have excused myself and turned off my computer monitor a minute earlier, but now it seemed too awkward to make a departure. I said, "I see you're busy, sir." But he just laughed and apologized for being distracted during our video meeting. "I'll let you go, Mr. Petrov. Just sometime perhaps I could talk with Jonas. Sometime when it's convenient, sir."

The old man looked down and said, "Wipe your face," then he smiled at me and said, "Yes, directly."

Before I realized what was happening, Petrov stood from his seat and was walking away from the computer. He did not try to hide the fact that he was naked, although his fat body looked like it was covered in thick gray wool. At the same instant, Jonas appeared on my monitor as he rose up to a standing position. My young son was naked but for a thin silver collar around his neck and another silver band at the base of his penis which made it stand up away from his body. He immediately took a pose with his hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed. Subservient was the word that came to mind. His tongue flicked lightly at his lips.

I froze for a moment. Then I reached with my foot and clicked off the power strip that fed electricity to the computer, the monitor and the camera. Everything went blank. I would make the excuse later that I was disconnected.

It wasn't simply a matter of the shock of seeing my son in his new status. It wasn't simply a matter of not knowing what to say to the boy. It was realizing that my cock was throbbing hard and leaking in my pants -- and this time I couldn't blame it on someone drugging my drink.

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