Reluctant Master
©2018 MCVT2017 March 21, 2018 When a slave-boy modification and sales company goes defunct a boy is left masterless or maybe not. Mcvt2017@gmail.com
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Adult Content: 100% fiction, slave, anal, oral, ped, sissy, peculiar anal insertions. ====================================================================
Understand this, I got a history. Got to watch myself - I am not goin' back - no how, no way. Nope - won't be enslaved in the penal system again! "Siege on Dope" bent my life before I graduated high school.
Before, when the mayor was the police chief, everyone pinched with a few ounces got a double sentence. Ol' boss man wanted to clear streets of drugs to show the public he was doin' all the good - create the appearance keeping the citizenry safe.
Yeah, like he could stop drug use! Sure. The old guy just rerouted it and diverted his cut to an offshore account. I suppose it was keeping the streets safe when I got an extra seven years for a baggie and auto theft when I don't even know how to drive!
According to the PD's calculations, the drug dealing and use plummeted, taking my freedom in its descent. The cabbies just changed their contact numbers and life went on.
When I got out I had to find work that didn't require much training. I called an old friend.
A guy I met inside had opened a somewhat strange company he called it a "niche market." He cleaned up crime scenes - helped the realtors and the families move the properties onto the market faster. Families of the deceased loved Bryce for that. Several convenience and liquor stores kept him on retainer for mopping up the blood and patching the walls on Sunday mornings.
When a person died alone, like a suicide - Bryce cleaned up the place and touched the house up after the medical examiner left and the police stripped the place. Gruesome labor, but he gave me a job. At first, I covered the gore with old newspapers and got it in the trash as soon as I could before I started gagging. But the pay was great and there was plenty of overtime!
I was grateful for income, sure - but people only asked once about my career. Women didn't date me twice when they found out what I did every day.
Staying on the straight and narrow, I bought two six packs for the weekend and gave up socializing till I had myself secured into the job and the neighborhood chatter ceased.
The business expanded. Bryce had two crews working for him.
He ran one crew that went in first, dealing with the police and submitting an estimate for the cleaning and repair, taking notes and photos; getting all the info on the survivors. Yeah, Bryce was slick; he could sell sand to the Bedouins. Savvy guy.
I followed in a van and picked up the trash, and prepped for repainting, patching spots on the carpet, and so forth. I spackled and puttied the holes and finished up the job with the subcontractors. Yeah, that meant removing as much of the remains as I could with all my equipment and chemicals, then securing any broken windows and doors.
Easy enough - I worked alone usually.
We cleaned our way through the summer and into the fall without many problems - lots of steady work - mostly overdoses and a few bullet holes. Not too much blood, considering...
Right before the holidays, Bryce sent me out on a first call to meet with the police on the scene. Simple break and enter that resulted in a massive coronary for the homeowner. Bryce was at a gang shoot-out in a local bar - big job.
For some reason, I felt there was something odd about the break and enter business, but I went because Bryce was training me to make estimates like he did. Bryce assured me that all I had to do was fill out the checklist form, get the contact info and pick up any trash.
"Coroner's office said the place looked almost untouched. So get out there and remember to spray the smell-good stuff around the bedroom and bathroom."
"You know I get nervous around the fuzz." I told him. "Can't you do it over your phone?"
"No. Take your photos and finish paperwork - I'll check it over and send it to right places. You don't have to chum up with anyone."
Well, I went and carefully avoided interacting with the cops. I kept my face on my checklist and stayed quiet as I took a few photos - the place looked okay. Not much disruption in the house, but I noticed a bunch of juice boxes and kiddy food, like mac and cheese - stuff like that in the kitchen. Freezer was stuffed with ice cream and frozen pops.
There were four bags of fizzy mint-ball candies in the cabinet. Same kind my grandmother put in her iced tea years ago. Odd - hadn't seen that stuff in years. Must have kept stuff for the neighborhood kids - maybe a niece or nephew.
The cops left, seems the dead guy had most of his funds in the bank. No jewelry or high-end electronics to pilfer. A gal from the Medical Examiner's office said it looked like an overdose on the old fella's pain meds - nothing out of the ordinary for a senior facing the possibility of long-term care. No forced entry, seemed to me, all the old locks and doorknobs were loose. She noted that someone had been around to eat with the guy - there were bowls and spoons in the sink like two people had eaten together several days ago.
"Could be something else - who knows? Let the investigators figure it out." She said and left.
I was taking my last photos and bagging trash when I heard something, like maybe rats or raccoons somewhere under the house or in the walls and called Bryce - maybe he could get an exterminator over here if the family wanted to get the house on the market.
This was an older home, with beautiful wooden floors and spacious high ceilings - Persian rugs, overstuffed brocade furniture from a ritzier time. I took a few more pics and sent them along to Bryce with a picture of a low window at the bottom of the house where I suspected the varmints entered. He told me to go to the hardware store, get some mothballs to sprinkle around in the basement, and set out some mousetraps.
"Leave `em where people can see them." Bryce told me. He was probably charging the family five or six hundred for my improvised pest control services.
The noises didn't stop so I snooped around to find out if there were animals larger than mice - I didn't have to confront them, just get an idea if I was dealing with feral cats or - maybe a nest of squirrels or an opossum.
So, I set a trap. I partially opened the low basement window in the back of the house and set some of the mint candies a frozen treat on the ledge - then sat back and waited on the steps of the back porch. Maybe someone's dog had found his way into the basement and the owner was offering a reward...
I waited and watched for a while, then heard a faint stirring in the basement. Got ready to take a photo, but stopped. A thin hand, with skin so pale it was almost transparent, reached out for the food rapidly and withdrew.
"Shit! That's some kid living in the basement!" I thought and went to my van to get my crowbar for self-defense. Ya' never know... But I summoned my courage in front of the open basement window.
"Open that window and get out here! You're trespassing!"
No response.
"Get out here! I'm not calling the cops, but I got to clear the house before I leave." I wasn't going to be accused of torture or abuse by locking the kid in the basement.
That didn't bring any movement - maybe there were several kids living down there. Stomping through the house above that part of the basement, I tried intimidation.
"Get your butt up here and show your thieving' whitey face! I'll tear a hole in the floor and pull your sorry ass up out o' there and turn your stinkin' butt inside out! Get up here now!"
I stopped and listened. Finally, I heard soft noises, as if the kid was hurt - the noise was coming from a hall closet now. Following the sounds, I pushed the hanging coats aside and saw some swivel latches on the wall, mounted underneath a shelf, and again at the moldings. On the back wall, there was a small door, about two by three feet.
Pulling out my flashlight, I inspected the opening. It was cleverly disguised.
More scuffling behind the wall and - was that sniffling?.
"You okay back there?" I asked. More sniffling and soft sounds.
"Where's my master?" A tiny voice whined. Nothing behind that was ferocious or even aggressive from the sound of the voice - sounded like a girl.
"Master?" I thought. The color of my skin alone was usually enough to cut that topic when I was around. "Massa ain't here no' mo. You talking about the old man? You mean Mister? Old Mister Kolettis? He died - they hauled his body away this morning. He's ain't comin' back."
A few small sobs sounded as I pulled the panel off the back wall to find a small boy in just a dirty tee shirt. Seemed to be about four and a half feet tall and rather skinny - I could see his ribs. He was pale, but appeared to be olive skinned with dark brown hair. He had a thin, metal and plastic collar around his neck.
He was crying, head down - sobbing softly.
"What the hell are you doing in the closet? You live down in the basement?"
"Master put me there three days ago."
"You mean the old man who lived here?"
"Yes, Master."
"Massa be dead now." I was getting a little put out with this slavery scenario.
"When was the last time you took a bath, kid? You smell awful."
That started more tears. I squatted beside him.
"You related to the old man? You his nephew or something?"
"He's my master." The kid held up the thin collar. Inside the collar were a web address and a phone number.
I called the number. Disconnected. I tried online and found no one owned or operated the site any longer.
Now, I looked at the kid as being emancipated from something. But the kid didn't realize what just happened - he wasn't a slave any longer if he was one to begin with. The poor little dark-haired imp with swollen, red eyes and skinny limbs looked abandoned by everyone.
"Social services for you kid. They'll find you a family." I said.
The boy's face went strange and he started full-blown tears and crying - sobs shook his little chest and I got down next to him and took his stinky body in my arms. "It's okay, sometimes it actually works right. Let's see if they can help."
More tears and the kid started yelling and getting louder. "No! No! You can't do that!" He was ticked to the max, and his face got all kinds of red. He fell on the floor and rolled around crying and screaming.
"Okay! Okay!" Looking at the kid, he was upset and verging on convulsions. What's a guy to do?
"C'mere - tell me what happened. Why are you here alone?"
Walking him to the bathroom, he told me he'd only been in the house for a few months, "About six, I think." He said.
Peculiar that he didn't know what day it was, either. He told me he'd arrived at his master's house in a box! I wasn't sure about this kid's sanity, but he had a great imagination...
"What's your name?'
"Belen."
"You got a last name? They call you Belen Kolettis?
"No. That's Master's name. I'm Belen."
"Belen what?"
He stopped for a moment.
"Belen Slave Boy?" He tilted his head to the side and grinned.
Couldn't fight that. "Okay, call me D'juan - not D, and not Juan. D'juan. Okay?
"Yes, Master."
"D'juan."
"Yes, Master."
I gave up.
Seems the boy was rented for "companionship" by the old man - wasn't any paperwork around to give me anymore information - must have been on the old man's computer. Wonder where that went...
I suspected it was sexual companionship and didn't comment. Heard about it, but didn't know much more than that about sex trafficking. Perhaps this was a common practice in some cultures - how would I know? But I know what a "houseboy" is about, and there were plenty years ago among my folk.
Some of this was making sense to me until I turned the shower on, shoved the boy under the water and gave him the soap. He handed it back to me.
"You gotta wash - get to it, boy." I gave him a washcloth.
"Master washes me, then examines."
Well, boy-lovers and their slave-tykes seem to have their kind of hygiene. This was new to me. But wash a filthy boy? I could do that. After all, I scraped and wrapped bits of human brains and crumbs of organs for a living.
Grabbing the soap, I started scrubbing. Belen stood still and let my hands go where they wanted. Damn, the boy needed a haircut... but his skin was smooth, not a blemish or a freckle. Not a scratch or a scar on his knees from kiddy pursuits like learning to ride a bike or a skateboard. Hmmm. I thought all boys had those - I did.
When I came to his ass, he stuck his butt out a little, offering me full access. That's when I found the hard stump of a butt plug, and pulled it out, tossing it in the sink.
"Does this help you poop or something? What's goin' on?" I asked, somewhat perplexed by his behavior.
"That's my plug, Master. It makes my ass ready for sex anytime."
"Don't need it anymore. Just go find some clothes to wear. Got any jeans?" The kid's face went into the crying mode again.
"That's my plug - the trainers said to use it everyday." His voice droned toward a higher register causing my skin to crawl.
After drying him off, he leaned over with his hands on his knees.
"I'm gonna keep it for you. Go find some clothes." He wouldn't move until I put it back in. His face was stern and he shot me an almost evil look. I realized that the high-tech collar and his strange behaviors were more that I imagined. This needed more study.
"Do you have a backpack?" I asked. "You're going to stay with me until we figure out where you need to be."
"I can't leave here." He said, still naked but combing his shaggy black hair. "The collar will zap me. Can't lie, or hit... I have to obey my master. The trainers monitor me all the time."
"Don't think you need to worry about it anymore." I showed him the abandoned website, and we called the phone number to hear it had been disconnected.
Tears came to his eyes. A worried look came over his face, and he looked at my face with his eyes wide and completely silent; thinking.
I imagined streams of humanity through all time, in their moment of liberation feeling the very same way. Some newly freed folks were stronger, they moved forward without knowing everything, but willing to learn and adapt. Most slaves were completely unequipped to face the world on their own without training, skills, nothing but their bodies to sell. They had no idea of their worth.
"Well, we'll get you into school, and you can go to college... Get a job, make a family. By the way how old are you?"
"Eleven." He answered.
"Okay, born in 2006... We'll get you into, um, sixth grade - somehow we'll work on it and get you up and going with the other guys your age."
"I was born in 1999." He stated clearly and lifted his tiny testicles. "They did surgery and I'll always be eleven - no nasty hair or anything. I'll be beautiful forever."
"Hmmm." I thought, "1999 and hasn't hit puberty yet? Strange as all get out..."
In the kitchen, I found enough food to fill his belly for a while as he explained his modifications but only briefly - he said he was asleep for a long time before he got his training.
"Let's see if we can get this thing off your neck. You are aware people aren't slaves and don't wear collars in this country?" I said, "Unless you get one for your ankle because you... Never mind, don't worry about collars any more."
He had a blank look on his face, but gave me a crooked smile.
We looked around and I found some tools, but when I examined the collar for an opening, the device fell apart in my hands.
All that out of the way, I looked at the kid and decided I'd try to get him straightened out without the foster care system or social services. Maybe I could find a family who took in children with disabilities and tell them he had some kind of growth-stunting gene. May have to contact my family in the islands to find him a home, but damn, he didn't have a passport, or ID.
But was he actually eleven or an adult? Interesting predicament and I felt sorry for him. Being a man is a proud thing, and being a boy forever is - well, after a while it must be sad but he considered himself "beautiful forever." Just ain't no accountin' for some people's tastes.
Then, I wondered if his mind and emotions would mature - his body wouldn't. His responses and reasoning appeared delayed - something was missing. Still, he'd need some help getting started no matter how old he was. Suddenly, I realized I had to figure out how to explain a light-skinned eleven-year-old with a Haitian-black ex-con, but this was a multicultural planet, right?
I'd find some place for him somewhere - he was kinda cute.
Yeah, I understood his upsetness about the social service system - it's sick to say, but his being a slave may have given him a better home than the government group houses or foster care. Maybe there was a freed slave home somewhere on the planet that would take him. Does something like that exist?
I chewed on the decision to keep him as long as I could, not really wanting to push him on till he had some decent place to stay. In the back of my mind, I wondered if it would be better if he were a slave for his entire life, and how extensive his training and reprogramming had been.
So, we waited for dark, and I slipped him between the bags of trash in the back of my van, and took off for the dump. Belen seemed perfectly happy, naked behind the bags of his former master's smelly detritus.
Our first weekend together was a sad awakening for me. The kid had no real teeth, they were gone - but he had some kind of ridge on his gums. So much for toothbrushes and dental check ups...
He could do some housework, not much though. The vacuum stymied him, but a broom he knew. Forget running the washing machine and dryer, measuring out the soap and softener. He acted like he would die of work-poisoning I asked him to fold a towel or separate and reunite socks. Must be some kind of elite slave, if such a thing could exist.
His education was lacking in the common sense, daily things like making change, and figuring fractions for cooking but his vocabulary was incredible, as was his knowledge of history. Seems he could read very well, but didn't use a computer. Fortunately, and quite oddly - he didn't complain about much!
But what could he do?
Anal sex, oral sex, prostate massages, and the intricacies of an incredible blowjob - he said these were emphasized in his training. Could have made instructional videos about foreplay - my nipples finally got the attention they deserved.
I swear the kid salivated at the sight of my cock; his butt was twitching as soon as I walked in the door after work. Belen was programmed for sex and was an enthusiastic partner - bordering on aggressive. He was perfectly happy to run the house naked, led by a constant three-inch hard on as an ever-present advertisement of his function in life.
Yep. My new high-tech slave had been drastically altered. His "uppity" had been neutralized, and he was full-bore focused into sexual boy-pleasure giving. It was the reason for his existence - no video games or basketball hoops in his life. Never even heard of scouting. That cut out a lot of expenses!
Seemed my groin became the center of his universe - and though I'd never dabbled much in the down low with my chums in the clinker, I found out it was good with the kid. Yep, the butt plug was a help with that and I was coming to really like it after I got past the age thing.
Belen showed no signs of a peppery attitude or a slippery, sarcastic side. Teenage havoc wasn't going to happen. Outside the bedroom he was a passive little fart, but insistent on my bathing him and tying him when I left the house. Forget about a babysitter. Slaves don't need them.
Remembering back to a class in high school where a scenario was given to young people, their responses measured maturity, as I recalled. I got Belen to the kitchen table and we had juice.
"Okay, so a man has wife he loves dearly. They find out she has cancer. The pharmacist has the drug to cure her, but it costs twenty thousand bucks. The man only has a few dollars in the bank. So, if you were the husband, what would you do?"
"Is she his slave?"
"No, they're married - he loves her more than anything in the world."
"Do you love me?" Belen asked.
"Maybe in a funny way, yeah. Everybody loves kids." I told him. "But what would you do if you were married to the woman with cancer?"
I was thinking he would negotiate with the pharmacist - an indicator of adult thinking, but his programming was neat.
"Let her die. Slaves are more valuable."
"Well, that fixes the medication problem. Now what about the man? He's sad and lonely."
Belen looked away for a moment. "He needs to get a slave boy."
"What if the man likes girls more than boys?" I was curious; Belen never showed an interest in girls or women.
"I like to dress like a girl and get prissy." He said and grinned. "Make up is fun!"
"Pussy boy, sissy boy and slave," I thought. "What a combo!"
It didn't take long to figure out we'd have to move every three to four years because he couldn't grow up. That would probably attract attention from the social services through the neighbors. Every perv in the hood would be buzzing my doorstep if they ever saw the kid, then I'd be guilty by association... Wait! I was the local perv. I fucked my slave boy!
Although he drew out what a slave cage looked like, I couldn't bring myself to put anyone in that position for long.
Slave crate? Sheesh! I found a way to make life work when I left every morning.
Through a joint decision, Belen agreed to be hogtied and left on bathroom floor with a few of his favorite fizzy mint-ball candies on the floor close by. Damn kid even kissed me and thanked me as I tied his ropes around his thin limbs.
Dating was out with Belen around. One night I brought home a cute little hottie after an evening at the bar. She was throwing her clothes against the wall before we hit the bedroom.
Wouldn't ya know Belen sneaked into the corner of my bedroom sniffling for attention until the woman started threatening me she was going to call CPS to come get my "son." Thank god that woman was stinking drunk and high! I escorted her to the door quickly and denied everything the next day saying she was imagining things.
"Me, with a white son? Woman, you crazy?"
But I was making more money, and had my own desires outside of Belen's scope of work. Maybe someone would marry an old yard bird who was a partner in a death clean-up biz - maybe I could even be a dad with a matching set of children.
Even more money came by wiping up yet more crime scenes and expanding into the burbs and a couple more cities. I moved into management.
I tied Belen inside the pantry and invited a gal over for wine and cheese one night.
Turning the stereo up again and again to cover his skootching around on the floor helped, but the poor lady said she was going to go deaf, and she left in a huff.
After that, I gave up. Belen had horned his way to the center of my life and held his position firmly.
Keeping Belen kept me single but he kept me warm every night whether I wanted it or not. What else could I do? Couldn't turn him out on the street - he was a little too prissy to survive very long and had problems keeping his pants on.
Cruising some questionable porn sites I struck up some conversations with the pervs on their forums. Took a while to get all the code words down, but I met a number of guys that liked children. Weeded the list down to men who liked boys only and found a guy who, after several months of chatting, agreed to meet me.
Mr. Gregory met me at a local coffee shop one evening - trim, distinguished and quite the confident pedophile. Looked like he might be something of a snob, but he wasn't at all! We drank several cups of coffee while he filled me in on Belen's background.
"Sir, you have a little gem there - valuable commodity. Enjoy him while you're young. He's from one of the finest of the boy-toy makers in the universe. They had a big lab on that planet... Can't remember the name, but the one that got blown up last year. You got the best of the fall out from that interplanetary civil war." He chuckled and explained the extensive reprogramming and training Belen endured.
"Is there some way I could meet him?" He asked before we left.
"Sure." We exchanged phone numbers. That began a series of dinners where Belen wore only an apron while he served us mac and cheese with pre-made salads.
That first dinner was enlightening. Of course, Belen was aflutter with another cock in the house, and he batted his eyelashes and wiggled his butt more than he ever did for me. We retired to the living room where Belen shook our martinis like a pro, Mr. Gregory smiling and nodding all the while. Belen served us, smiling and giving us both the ol' slave boy wiggle.
"Belen, I wanted two olives. I only see one. Are you asking me for a good, hot spanking?" Mr. Gregory asked, raising an eyebrow.
That sent Belen into a cascade giggles and he approached Mr. Gregory with a devilish smile.
"Take that apron off and I'll teach you how you're supposed to treat a guest!"
With that demand, Belen whipped his apron off and began dancing like the sultriest stripper on the North Side. I was in awe and so hard I thought my dick would pop off. I never talked to Belen like that or teased him to bring out his assets.
"Very good, darling. Now come here and apologize about the olive problem and take your punishment." Over Mr. Gregory's knee, Belen wiggled his rear and cooed making sure the end of his butt plug was clearly in view.
"I'm sorry about your olives." His voice was almost curly with cuteness.
"Well, aren't you the brassy boy, showing me your butt plug - have you no shame? Are you telling me you want your little honey-ass fucked? Mr. Gregory was an expert, he grabbed a magazine off the coffee table and rolled it up then delivered several blows to Belen's behind.
"Is that enough for now?"
Belen didn't move. So the older, dignified man winked at me, reached between the boy's legs and pinched his nuts several times. That got Belen's attention and he gave out some small screams and jumped up.
Damn, if Belen wasn't grinning!
"Now let's see if we can't fuck the daylights out of your sweet hole - you naughty slave."
Never thought I'd be naked, fucking a slave boy with a hoity-toity old white guy, but damn, he knew stuff I couldn't imagine.
At first, I just watched, stroking myself lightly as Mr. Gregory had the boy undress him and fold his clothes neatly, hanging his slacks and sport coat in the closet followed by a few hard slaps to get him to hurry up.
Laying on my back, with Belen between my knees licking my balls, Mr. Gregory leaned over and sniffed the boy's crack and gave him a few kisses on his crimson cheeks.
He looked over the boy's back at my face, "The more you dominate him, the better slave you'll have."
"You mean if I get rough and tough in bed he'll finally do the laundry?"
"Maybe. Give it a shot." With that, Mr. Gregory slapped the boy again and entered him with a threat. "When I pull away - you tighten up on me. Suck me dry boy, kiss my prick with your ass or I'll stuff one of those mints up there and make you dance again!"
Belen nodded, looked up at me and grinned. "I liked mint balls in my butt!"
That's what the candy was for! I was amazed.
When Mr. Gregory felt he was in the right place, he began a somewhat erratic rhythm, shoving into the boy's ass.
Almost automatically, Belen sucked my aching prick into his mouth. Every thrust from Mr. Gregory shoved Belen forward and my cock deeper into his mouth. Were those his tonsils I felt on my glans?
Mercy! When that old man started rapid-fire shoves and deep groans, I couldn't hold myself on earth any longer. Looking down, I saw Belen's eyes on my face - they were sparkling delightfully and I felt a geyser-like eruption building in my testicles.
I groaned along with Mr. Gregory into a glorious celebration of boy-slavery!
Later, Mr. Gregory and I retired to the bath where he demanded another martini while Belen got in the tub with him and used that silky dermis as a "boy washcloth" to clean him. Then Belen bathed me while Mr. Gregory watched, and offered Belen and treat if he did a good job.
After Belen dried me off, and Mr. Gregory sniffed and inspected me as sort of a quality control measure, I guess. Belen watched closely, hoping he'd met the standard for his reward.
Old man Gregory didn't give him any reward until Belen dressed him and had him looking good. He even got the boy to comb his hair, and dab my cologne on him! I put on my bathrobe and sippers thinking I should be taking notes on all this stuff. Underutilized! I wasn't using the boy's talent!
Back in the living room, Mr. Gregory patted his thigh. Belen jumped on his lap, straddling him and grinning at him.
"Very good job this evening, you little elf." He tweaked Belen's nipples, "Now what do you want - my fingers or a mint ball?"
Belen thought about it and leaned forward to whisper to Mr. Gregory.
"You want both? You little stinker! So you think you were that good?"
"Yes. I'm beautiful, too." Belen fluttered his eyelashes and flashed a smile.
"Okay, put your hands on your head. Don't cum until I say so!"
Watching closely, I saw Mr. Gregory stick his fingers in Belen's mouth, moving it in and out several times then he slipped his fingers into Belen's butt. Must have found the boy's prostate almost immediately, the kid gasped with his eyes opened wide.
"Wait boy or I'll have to spank again! Keep those hands on your head!" He teased Belen causing the tiny body to jump and twitch. Belen's body tensed and moved around, but always escaping the excitement of a good rub where he needed it. That was funny to watch as their expressions changed - Belen pleading and Mr. Gregory teasing.
"Belen, put your arms around my neck and kiss me!" Mr. Gregory demanded.
Immediately, Mr. Gregory gave him what he'd wanted and Belen twitched and flinched through an incredible orgasm with Mr. Gregory's tongue in his mouth.
Afterward, Belen kept his arms around the man who leaned over, grabbed a fizzy mint ball and slipped it into Belen's ass.
Belen leaned back, "Thank you." Then, he stood up and came to sit on my lap!
"Let's take the boy out. Show him off a little. What say, D'Juan ?"
"He doesn't seem to take to clothing very well."
"Well, tell him to! Next week at seven?"
"Sure."
Belen was tickled .
As I stood over the washer, tossing the dirty laundry in, I chastised myself. For some reason, I couldn't find it in myself to get rough with my slave. He was just too damned cute - I preferred his incredible blowjobs and that tight ass. When he did an exceptional job and remembered to suck my nipples, I finished the evening by stuffing a mint ball up his butt before he went to sleep. That was about as far as I could go.
The next week, Mr. Gregory showed up with a suitcase. While Belen shook our martinis, we talked about going out - taking Belen and going to the Fontainebleau Hotel.
"Great place - it's kind of like the Shellman. Very discrete staff and the food's great. Lots of us go there with our young - um, charges."
"You mean pervs have a meeting place?"
"Well, I feel I'm more of a Youth Sensuality Instructor... Let's not use the baser terms - but yes, our sort of teachers do meet to exchange notes and swap curricula." He reached down to the suitcase.
"Let's try the Tuesday night buffet - should be fun. Come here Belen..."
They opened the suitcase and Belen covered his mouth with his hands and jumped up and down on his tiptoes.
"For me?" He was happier than I'd ever seen him before.
"Yes, my slutette, but only if you've given me two olives in my martini tonight." Belen brought our drinks, both with two olives and he started inspecting an incredible array of dresses, panties, ribbons and bows all neatly tucked into the valise.
"Pick out the something you like and try it on." Gregory encouraged him.
While Belen was trying on his outfit Mr. Gregory told me that it might feel strange at the buffet.
"Understand the other dates there will be regular kids - maybe some are slaves, but you'll probably be the only one there with a modified model. Belen's a different animal altogether." He sipped his martini, "But the kids on Tuesday nights! Gorgeous! We get together to show off our - um - coital bling... Lot of one-upmanship going on but a good time - you might even be able to rent the boy out - fill out your retirement account..."
Giving me a serious look, "These are upscale peds. No mall restroom lurkers or cheap thrills in the bushes for them. These specialists are a more refined kind of lech - they have a deep appreciation for the tradition." He tossed his head back and looked down his nose at me.
I was reeling with all this information and somewhat confused but sipped my martini, awaiting Belen.
Slave owner and pimp - was there no bottom to this pit of quicksand I'd stepped into?
Belen came back into the room wearing a pair of white very tight, and very short shorts, a tiny white halter and long white evening gloves. He pranced in front of me, his stubby erection clearly outlined along with his almond-sized testicles.
He strutted himself, swinging his hips and kissed me directly on my lips, then looked at me over his shoulder with a "come hither" look. What a ham!
"Perfect! Absolutely perfect with your coloring. Come here." Mr. Gregory called to Belen.
Mr. Gregory put a thin gold ankle bracelet on Belen. "Aren't you ready to go, you little heartbreaker!"
Belen was really getting into it and grabbed more clothes from the suitcase running back to the bedroom to present himself in another outfit.
"Where'd you get all this stuff?" I went over to the suitcase, and dug through looking at tiny sequined thongs, and miniature lingerie.
"Ah! My pretty boys - the spice of life! But they grew out of them, unfortunately..."
Tuesday night I decided to dress down in jeans, a sport shirt and a tee shirt - but honestly I didn't own a suit and didn't want one. Mr. Gregory came by and brought a raincoat for Belen
"Just for the flash effect." He chuckled as he helped Belen into the bulky coat and tied it tightly giving Belen a kiss. "Use this lip gloss and get ready to rock. Let's psych-up."
He hit the button on the car stereo and played an incredible series of the sexiest songs I'd ever heard. Damn, that little Belen went further into the role of America's #1 vamp.
We drove down to the edge of the seedier side of town - older buildings, liquor stores on every corner and people walking pit bulls. Hmmm.
Mr. Gregory pulled into the parking garage, and took us all the way to the top level before we could get out. Seemed secure enough, but really, who's going to mess with a six-foot black guy with an evil growl?
The Fontainebleau, established in 1952, sported worn rugs on ancient red tile floors and genuine formica trim around the counters and desks. Smelled a little moldy to me, but we were here for a good time. We entered a side room that was staffed by a hotel employee handing out nametags - we all gave fake names.
I said that Belen was named "Angelo," and slapped the sticky label on his raincoat knowing he didn't have much else to stick it to.
The room was filled with men in suits, the Italian kind with a subtle sheen to the fabric and silk ties. We got the slow eye from the guys who huddled together with their mini-dates for the evening.
The kids! Most of them looked like they were going to some costume party; some came in leather outfits with the butt cut out of the pants! Several sported tattoos and some had piercings - they were all between seven and about fifteen, I guessed.
If there was ever a place for an undercover vice cop, this would be it. My radar went up. It had been years since I'd seen a photo of the mayor that had me jailed, but I could almost swear he had a nine-year-old boy on his lap wearing a very tight scouting uniform with a perky cotton scarf.
We had a few bites to eat. "Angelo" ate two bowls of ice cream, and the lights dimmed and some canned music started.
"Now, take his coat off and take him to the dance floor." Mr. Gregory said.
"I don't dance!" I hadn't expected this.
"Get out there!" Mr. Gregory shoved my arm. "Slaves get to have some fun, don't they?"
The music was slow, so I took Belen's coat off and walked him to the floor. His head came up to my sternum making it difficult for me to assume a traditional stance with him. But the floor cleared as Belen began a very sexy solo for the entertainment of the room - if he'd had veils, I'd have called him Salome!
I stepped back to the side of the room and watched my boy's body move like a snake. He would approach one man, or another boy and work them like a drunken slut. I think it was the long gloves.
Out of habit, I glanced the room for the reaction of the gawkers - they were mesmerized. When the song was over, I escorted Belen back to our table with business cards filling my pockets, each one with a number written on the back. These pervs, refined or not, were less than monogamous. They wanted a piece of my Belen for some incredible amounts of money.
We went to the Tuesday night buffets a few more times before Mr. Gregory had to leave town in a hurry.
I didn't ask.
The years passed, and I took Belen out once a month or so to the buffet and bought him a few new outfits. Still couldn't get him to do the laundry though.
With my thin, graying hair, and my skin several shades lighter from more administrative duties at work, I made a more comfortable companion to my ever-eleven-year-old charge.
My skin wrinkled. He still hadn't sprouted a pubic hair and I often wondered how he would age or die. He was never sick, but always a little nymph-like sweetheart with a crooked smile eyeing my package. Whether I was in a hard mood or not, my manhood automatically responded. The kid had programmed me!
As I began shaving my entire head due to my lack of hair, Belen's attitude changed a little. I was often prodded and reminded about my slave-owning duties - getting lax with my discipline of Belen. Again.
Wasn't ever in my nature to slap up on anyone - seemed Belen needed that, so I used a yardstick once a week or so. Gave him a few light swats on his calves and told him to behave himself, "or else!"
When he wanted more, I gave him another tap for back talkin' me and sent him to the pantry for an hour. That seemed to satisfy him for a while - but I was getting too old for this role.
He'd try to trip me up by not doing a chore like not bathing me correctly and when I didn't want to whip him, he explained what I needed to do to be a better master. Again. Like an old married man, I nodded from my lounger, drink in hand and promised to do it right next time... Not very master-like, but I was in some ways boy-pussy whooped by the tyke.
As I further aged, my lower back wasn't able to give him the furious movements he required for his still-dry orgasms. Though he kept my testicles drained it was hard to keep up my old routine with him. Finally, one night in bed I told him that I was going to go to the same place his former master had gone - into the great beyond with Mr. Kolettis.
"You're still eleven, though. Where do you want to go? Do you remember any family or know any other masters who could take you? How about Mr. Gregory? Maybe we could find him."
"Slaves don't decide that!"
"Yeah. But now you got a choice about your life. I'm going to ask you to think hard. I've been saving money for you. We could buy you a small house and get someone to keep your bills paid so you'd be okay."
"No master?" Tears filled his eyes.
I realized that his slave mentality was routed to come from the depths of his psyche and it was very permanent. His lights were on, and there was only a slave at home waiting for his master.
I was stuck with my secret; I was stuck with a perpetual eleven-year-old boy who had dramatically altered my life and trained me into serving his needs. I was his slave - a slave to keeping his secrets and serving his pre-programmed function.
I'd wanted a family but couldn't help feel incredibly sorry for all that was taken from this kid, who was actually forty something and I was getting ready to retire.
Bringing up the topic several times as I perused nursing home care, retirement homes and the like, I began inviting the local pedophiles over for dinner - I had their business cards. I found his girl-sized apron, and he enjoyed wiggling his butt under the bright white bow that tied the frilly front piece over his micro-package.
Well, that was a confusing mess with me interviewing them like a matchmaker, and them salivating and pulling their wallets out for a quick romp with my toy. When one of them suggested I was scouting a hot three-way with my boy, I stopped the dinners.
Most of the peds were older - not much help for Belen, he needed a younger man. I figured Belen had about thirty more years on the planet in non-slave terms.
Went to the darkest part of the net, and found some hardcore dealers in children and some real sleazy folks but I couldn't sell Belen into that mess. Though he hadn't known full liberty, he'd become accustomed to getting his way with me often enough. There were few responses to my questions among the filthiest of the lot on the net; I guess I was swimming against stream trying to give away a pre-programmed, trained slave with all the body modifications.
It musta looked like some kind of sting operation.
My body was getting weaker, my back ached. Belen was no good at cooking or cleaning - he got my meds into a holy mess that took all day to straighten out. But he loved me, and grinned while I put things back in order.
Then, I became a little leaky - like a lot of older men, and started wearing the padded briefs - this flummoxed Belen. Seemed he could understand part of the explanation of urinary issues and said I could pee on him. That didn't work out well.
I guess he wanted more of a rush than a dribble - just took too damned long for me to get it out. Then, with him watching me in anticipation - I went as dry as the Sahara.
The decline of my health was a foreign thought and one that he couldn't assimilate. Looking at him trying to figure things out and considering his possible coming changes, I made the decision I hated to do, but had considered for the past several years.
I was going to sell my slave. Crap! I'd become another Simon Legree! I abhorred the thought.
Online I ordered some gym shorts and shoes, and took Belen to a rather notorious park where there were plenty of shrubs and a wooded area on the south side. I stumbled along with my walker, and a bag of juice boxes swinging from the handle and we made our way to a bench near the restrooms.
As we sat on the bench, I gave Belen a juice box - "Drink this so you can pee."
I watched a parade of teens and men entering the restroom, but kept a close eye on a "good match." Most of them looked like homeless people turning bucks and blue-collar types that wanted a cheap thrill during lunch.
I sent Belen into the restroom when I spotted a decent-looking guy, "Get along boy - go pee and see if you can help that guy with the blue jacket - he looks like his zipper is stuck."
This wasn't working out for me. Belen seemed to enjoy himself too much and he was just too darling - guys avoided him; he was unadulterated jail bait.
My last few brain cells heated up after taking my niacin tablets one day. I got a great idea! I'd take Belen back down to the Fontainebleau and troll for a pedophile who might treat him well, or maybe even love him like I did - and we'd go every night till we found his lucky new master.
I made sure Belen was decked out with lipstick and eyeliner and some cute outfit with a clean pair of panties before I called the taxi.
After we enjoyed a light dinner in the hotel restaurant, I took my "great granddaughter" with me to the men's room off the lobby several times, and left Belen standing by the urinals while I went into a stall to wait.
Men came and went. Most of them noticed Belen standing next to the row of urinals with his crooked smile and pink lips. Almost every conversation began with something like, "What a cute little girl. Where's your mommy?"
I'd flush the toilet at that point and leave the stall to size up what kind of wag was looking over Belen, closing in for the grab. Yeah, these were a better grade of pedophiles. Moneyed for sure, but some were rather skittish - a sure sign of something hinky going on with them.
Well, through the months Belen and I expanded his wardrobe - seems peds have preferences in how their boy-pussies are wrapped. Trying to help, I suggested pink panties with little flowers on them, and told him that they were a special treat for his new master, and tried to show him how to flash the guys in the restaurant when he sat down. We almost got kicked out he was so good at flashing panties.
Two months later, we went to dinner - Belen was wearing his favorite dress - a white affair with puffy sleeves and enough petticoats to lift the short skirt almost parallel to his waist. White flats and those funny nylon socks with the lace gathered at the top - I even pulled his hair back into something of a ponytail and used plenty of hairspray, but the messiness looked kinda cute.
In our first men's room run, I heard a man enter and unzip his pants.
"Hello." He must be talking to Belen. "You need to pee? I think there's an empty stall..."
"Sure." Belen answered and I heard his shoes clicking on the tiled floor. Belen must have lifted his skirt and flounces and pulled out his peter.
"Well, you are in the right restroom!" The man chuckled. "Are you going to a party all dressed up like that?"
"No." Was all he said, and I heard his rapid stream hitting the ceramic fixture. So I flushed and came out of the stall pretending to tuck my shirttail back in my pants, grabbed my cane and went to the sink.
"Belen, don't bother the man." I said, and smiled at a short, blonde thirtyish guy fumbling with his dick and flicking pee all over his slacks.
"Hope he didn't bother you. Now, Belen, get over here and wash your hands."
"Beautiful, uh - grandson you got there. He likes dressing up, huh? Cute little guy." The man was embarrassed, but tried to add some positive spin to his nervous guilt.
"Yep, that's my boy. He's a real doll, I gotta admit. Precocious as all get out." I added with a wink, and noted the man sported a name badge from a convention meeting at the hotel. "Hi! I'm Faulkner."
He smiled and glanced at Belen several times as he moved to the sink.
"So, visiting for the convention, huh? How about joining us in the restaurant for a glass of wine? This is our night out, the kid loves coming here for their - uh, chocolate sundaes. Gotta keep him spoiled rotten, you know how it goes." I grinned and lifted an eyebrow.
"Well, I'm more of a beer and chips kind of guy, but sure." He flicked Belen's ponytail. "Beautiful boy."
We went back to our booth with my boy sitting between us, and I played Belen to the max for Faulkner.
"Belen, one spot of anything on that dress and I won't mind taking you outside for a quick paddling! I mean that, boy." I shot Belen a hard look. "I'll set that pretty pink butt of yours on fire!"
Of course, Belen grinned, "Real hard this time?"
"Harder than that kitty cat." That made Belen giggle. I noticed he'd lifted his little finger when he held the spoon, carefully scooping little bites to his rouged lips. What a slave-princess!
Faulkner just stared at us, watching our interplay.
"So you have your own rug rat to keep in line?" I asked, sipping my wine.
Faulkner's eyes were on Belen, "Me? Never found the right gal, not that I'm so much into women. My work keeps me busy most of the time..." His voice trailed off as he watched my coy little fox batting his eyelashes furiously.
"What kind of work?"
"Commercial photography - I'm on the company documentation team. They have offices all over the world - I work on the domestic side - mostly along the seaboard..."
I thought I saw Faulkner's hand slip under the tablecloth toward Belen's thigh.
"Damned hard to find a good photographer these days. Disgusting photos on the milk cartons.... Do you happen to take a few photos on the side, like maybe for a little extra cash?"
I dropped that bait carefully, figuring Faulkner had deep-seated proclivities he was just finding out about or maybe he was in love... Either way, this guy was the one - young, professional, and seemed malleable enough for Belen to train him into adoration.
"Yeah, but hard to find a good model." He told me, keeping his eyes on Belen. "You know, this kid could model - beautiful girl - uh, boy..."
"Sniffing the bait." I told myself to stay cool and let it play out.
"Really, you think so?"
"Yeah, he's a natural." At that moment, I could hear Faulkner's saliva glands slip into overdrive and I knew he was erect.
"Well, I have to be careful - wouldn't want him to fall into the wrong hands - he's still young, and, well - it's a battle to keep him innocent. You know, him being a virgin and all - have to keep him pure for his future partner. A boy needs to be watched over closely - health issues and all."
Then, Belen picked up his water glass, dripping with condensation. A few drops fell on the bodice of his dress.
"Belen, you know better!" I growled. "Outside! Now!"
Faulkner tried to come to the boy's aide. But I grabbed Belen's hand, and began pulling him toward the aisle.
"Wait! Wait! It's only water - not worth a spanking." Faulkner pleaded, so I pulled a one-eighty on him.
"You wanna do it?" I delicately maneuvered Faulkner closer to what he wanted.
"Well..." Faulkner was complete noob. I suspected he was in a moment of personal awakening.
"Take his pants down and throw him over your knee, son. I'm getting too old for giving a really good lesson."
Belen was beaming.
"I've got a room on the sixth floor. Let's discuss this in private." Faulkner downed his beer and stood.
Hook set! I threw a bill on the table and we left, me reprimanding Belen the whole way as if I were truly upset.
"He's gonna get you good! You need to know how hard I worked to keep you in those little silk panties you like. Damn - ought to get you a burlap jock strap instead. Maybe that'll make your damned little pecker something other than hard all the time."
"Really?" Belen grinned, jumping on his tippy-toes.
Faulkner's eyes were wide and his pants looked it housed the center ring of a circus he was so hard listening to my inventions as we strode down the hallway.
When we got into Faulkner's room, he was still a little stunned and seemed somewhat distraught about causing pain to such a darling waif.
"Here, let me show you what he needs." I jerked Belen. "You know the routine! Belen! Strip." I helped him with unbuttoning his dress and lifted it over his head. Belen stood in a thin camisole, the tutu-like petticoats and his shoes.
"Get those shoes off pussy boy!" I ordered Belen while Faulkner's mouth was agape and his eyes were wide. Faulkner wiped his chin as I pulled my belt off.
"Strip!" I ordered again.
This time, Faulkner reached over and helped Belen remove his frou-frous and the camisole and his shoes and socks. His hands added a few caresses.
"It's gonna be okay. I'll be gentle - it was only a few drops of water, probably dry by now." He whispered to Belen who absolutely adored being the center of attention with a thorough whipping coming his way to boot.
"Gentle, my ass! Teach him a lesson. Now get those girly britches off, Belen and come here." "Over my knee, ungrateful slut!"
Belen was smiling, looking forward to a good thrashing and leaned over onto my knees.
"Bring me that lotion from the bathroom." I ordered Faulkner.
"What for?" Was Faulkner acting a fool? Anything with lotion and a slave boy had its eventual results. Naked boy, lotion, red butt - he didn't put it together.
"Just do it." When Faulkner returned with the tiny bottle of lotion, I doubled my belt over in my hand. "Keep it quiet boy, or you'll get more when we're home. Understand me?" I used my gruffest voice.
He nodded, and I raised my belt and gave Belen two swats.
"Your turn. I just don't have the strength I used to have." I stood up and gave Faulkner my seat as I rebelted my slacks.
When Belen leaned over his lap, Faulkner drew a jerky breath looking at the sweet pink globes of flesh in front of him. You would have thought he just sat down and the ritziest buffet from the expression on his face - this guy was almost too shocked to enjoy himself.
Sensing a wrestling match in the man's conscience, "Get to it, man. You want him to become another sissy-boy whore? Out on the streets servicing any cock that gets in his face? Wanna see the boy put his knees at his ears for any `hey-joe' with two bits or less? Teach the boy a lesson!"
Faulkner tentatively began slapping on Belen's butt and started to find an odd satisfaction in feeling the tiny body jerk and twitch, or it could have been Belen's cocklette pressing into his thigh. Either way, I let him go until Belen's butt was a deep red.
"That's enough for now." I said and handed Faulkner the lotion. "Give him a good rub down, keeps his skin soft."
I poured a dollop of lotion onto Belen's crack, "Rub it in. Belen's going to tell you he's sorry for being an unthankful little bitch." Faulkner started rubbing the lotion around while Belen mumbled a few things, or maybe he was chuckling. Couldn't tell.
"Get him coated all over - real good. That way he'll know you didn't want to hurt him so much as keep him on the straight and narrow."
I grabbed my package, "Damn, that boy is so hot!"
Then, I made a hasty retreat to Faulkner's bath and made out as if I was jerking off. I'd carried Belen's butt plug in my jacket pocket and slipped it into Faulkner's toiletry bag. Waiting till I heard them talking, I went back into the suite tucking my shirttail in again, with a big smile
I found Faulkner had the lotion down to Belen's scrotum and his other hand over the boy's bottom with one finger exploring a sweet boy pussy and breathing hard. Belen was pushing back at the finger and asking for more.
"Yep, this is the right guy." I thought. "Slave Boy Servicing 101 had already started."
I gave my body a slight jerk and pulled my phone out and stared at the screen, touching it several times.
Faulkner was learning to enjoy marine life - he was giving Belen's starfish a titillating inspection, and exploration. Belen was cooing lifting his butt higher against Faulkner's fingers.
"Faulk, man, I got to answer this call - it's about work. I'm gonna step out in the hall."
Faulkner nodded without looking up at me. He was breathing hard.
So, I stepped out the door, closing it quietly behind me and took off for the stairs as fast as my arthritic knees would carry me. Slipped out the back door of the hotel and jumped on the first bus that came by.
Yeah, that was a sleazy, but slick move for a geezer. I figured Belen had his new master's programming well underway. Faulkner would learn the same way I did.
As I entered my condo, it was empty. No Belen to untie or suck me.
Bagging his wardrobe and the fizzy mint-ball candy, my memories flooded back of all the incredible sex and how far I'd bent my life around him. Burned a lot of time with that boy, but we'd done okay.
My condo sold quickly, and I took my retirement and went to the islands - back home.
I sat in front of my walker at the town square swappin' shit with the other codgers every morning enjoying the sea breezes and watching the girls walk past. Since it was December, there were plenty of tourists - lots of foot traffic to the open-air market.
Ol' Tompkins nudged me out of my second morning nap with his bony elbow, "Wouldja look at that man!"
Took a minute to focus, but there was a couple of folks in the crowd walking through the center of the square - an ecstatic and energetic child, dark haired in only sandals, and a miniscule string bikini. The bottom poked out three inches from the pubis. The child was holding the hand of a dapper man who was snapping pictures of everything around him - mostly the kid's butt.
Sure seemed like my Belen; I had to smile, adjust my padded briefs and grin.
Looks like I'd done good by my little master.
Fin.