This is the second part of chapter two; I decided to post the first part on its own, because the writing process was taking a bit longer, and the story was turning out to be much more complex, than I had planned, so it seemed a bit more palatable to break this chapter into pieces.
A note: just because characters in stories -- all stories, not just mine -- don't necessarily practice safe sex does not mean that we mere mortals shouldn't. A condom is just a stupid piece of rubber, and if you honestly believe that it impedes true sexual satisfaction, then you're being incredibly foolish, naive, and dangerous. Sex is a 100% mental game, which is proven by the fact that you're reading these stories. Safe only means boring if you have no imagination.
You'll recall that we ended in the middle of a flashback that found our future master, Jon, stepping into the middle of his very first BDSM experience to offer medical help to the young slave of his childhood friend, Jason. So without further ado....
TWO (part two)
Even though he was sedated, and even though the bit had been replaced firmly inside his mouth, the boy still howled, still wailed like an abused puppy as Jon was resetting the dislocated shoulder. It took three strong attempts -- during which the boy was literally shrieking, making inhuman sounds no gag could quash -- before the paramedic felt the joint's ball pop back mercifully into place. The boy's shrill, muffled cries stopped instantly, reduced to a mewl, and Jon knew it was over. The two men sighed heavily, Jason waiting for Jon's assurance.
"You're going to be OK," Jon said softly to the boy, and patted his head as he watched small tears slide out from underneath the blindfold, which Jason had insisted remain in place throughout the procedure.
When Jon had returned from fetching the supplies, he told Jason that he could only get his hands on a mild sedative -- he didn't have easy access to anything serious on such short notice. He then asked what Jason had in terms of alcohol; a quick search turned up an old, half-empty Bacardi bottle. Jon knew how dangerous it was to mix drugs and drink, and reiterated to Jason that a joint reduction is usually and best performed in a hospital, with anesthesia, by trained professionals. Jason shot him down immediately, again, and so Jon told him to make sure the kid took several big slugs of the rum, enough to numb his body a little.
"Is that safe?" Jason asked.
"Fuck no, it's not safe. But you're not giving me any other options."
The men returned to the basement dungeon, Jason carrying the rum and a glass, and Jon carrying the sling and a clean syringe filled with sedative. Inside the playroom, Jake was crying harder now, and Jon knew that the pain was becoming more intense now, that the adrenaline rush was fading fast.
Jason knelt before the boy and unfastened the leather cord behind his head, loosening the bit gag and then removing it from the kid's mouth. "Exercise your jaw," he said, voice unyielding. Jake made several yawn-like movements, and color returned to his face. Jason poured a healthy portion of rum into the glass and held it to Jake's lips. "Drink," he said. The boy took a swallow of the liquid and started to cough, not prepared for the bitter taste. "Swallow it, Jake. It'll help the pain." Jake's Adam's apple bobbed a couple of times. "Good boy." He offered the glass again. "More." The boy sipped.
Jon watched the whole scene, stunned at how quickly he was becoming completely comfortable with what was unfolding before his eyes. This boy, this child, didn't have a stitch of clothing on his body (with the exception of the blindfold and the studded leather dog collar that hugged his neck), and yet it didn't seem abnormal at all. It seemed strangely right. There was no rational explanation for the fact that he was becoming increasingly aroused by the sight and by the idea of this boy, chained to the floor of his friend's basement.
When the boy had downed two glasses of rum, Jon told Jason to stop. Jason gave Jake one last gulp and then set the glass on the floor. "Should I gag him again?" he asked.
"It's probably best," Jon said. "It'll help to give him something to bite down on. It's going to hurt him pretty bad."
Jason quickly picked up the bit and held it to Jake's lips. Jon recognized that it was covered with teeth marks. It was clear that Jake had gnawed this thing often. "Open," he said. Jake seemed to hesitate. "I said, open," Jason repeated, a hint of anger sliding into his tone. Jake accepted the gag into his mouth, biting down with perceptible defiance. Jason fastened the leather cord around the child's skull anew, and leaned down to whisper, in an eerily calm, completely even voice, "You will be punished for that." Jon felt chills slice through his body. It was all unprecedented and erotic for him, watching the boy nod his head in acceptance of his master's declaration.
"Are you ready, Jake?" Jason then asked, and the boy nodded again. "His name is Master Jon, he's here to help you. You will obey his orders, am I clear?" The boy nodded. "He tells you to do something, you do it. Am I clear?" The boy nodded. "He has a syringe, a sedative for you, to calm you down a bit. He's going to inject you, OK?" The boy nodded.
Jason looked at Jon. "You're up, buddy. Tell me what I can do."
"I need him to be completely still. You'll probably have to hold him down until I get his arm back into the socket. Can you do that?"
"Yes." He turned to the boy. "Did you hear him, Jake? You'd better not move a centimeter."
Jon walked to them and stooped to his knees, telling Jason to get a good sandwich grip on the boy's chest and back. Jon stole a quick glance at the boy's half-hard penis -- he'd been fighting the urge from the start and could no longer resist. He noticed, for the first time, a shiny stainless steel ring around the boy's cock and balls and realized that Jason was keeping Jake's member erect at all times. Once more, he found the idea simultaneously disgusting and fascinating.
Jon immediately got an image -- which he also tried unsuccessfully to repel -- of his own son. Steve. Steve McDermott. A happy, handsome twelve-year old boy living in Colorado, drama-free. He looked back at Jake's face, his cloth- covered eyes. This could be my son flashed through Jon's swirling mind. Did this boy have parents? Was he here of his own will? Did anybody miss him? Would this boy's cock ever know the immeasurable joy of a woman's body, the way his own did, the way his son's would?
He realized that Jason was watching him, waiting for him to move. "Can you hear me, Jake?" Jon asked, and watched the boy nod. "I'm going to sedate you in a second, all right? That will help you a little bit, and I'm going to be as easy as I possibly can be with you, but I won't lie to you. This is going to hurt, a hell of a lot. Just be strong, okay? You'll do fine. Just stay still and be strong. Don't be afraid to bite down, as hard as you can. It'll help with the pain, I promise." The syringe slid quickly into the left cheek of Jake's perfect bubble butt; within a couple of minutes, the boy was visibly calmer, freer, much less tense.
Jon nodded at Jason, who tightened his grip on the boy's upper body, holding him immobile. Jon then told Jake to take a deep breath before taking one himself. Gingerly, he put a hand on the boy's wrist and the other on the boy's bicep, and on a silent three-count, gave the entire arm a forceful forward tug. Jake screamed and jerked in spite of himself, but Jason did a good job of holding him still. But Jon knew instantly that the joint was still dislocated; the shoulder and arm remained an almost perfect right angle. "Fuck," he said. Jake's muted cries chilled him to the bone. "One more time, Jake. Hang in there."
One two three. Another pull. Another gut-wrenching shriek from the boy, full of pure raw pain. "Goddammit!" Jon yelled into the slightly musty air of the room. Still out of socket.
He knew the kid was in misery, knew there was nothing he could do to help him. "OK, Jake," Jon said. "You gotta help me here, bud. You gotta work with me. Focus all your attention on your shoulder. We can do this." Jake was making ragged, unintelligible sounds through his throat. "We can do this, Jake. One more time."
One two three. Jon dug his knees into the floor of the basement, twisted the boy's arm slightly and gave it the hardest yank yet. The ball slipped effortlessly into place. The arm tensed and then relaxed in the span of a half-second, and the screams stopped. The severe pain was gone, and the cries became sniffling whimpers. "You did it, Jake," Jon said to him. "You're going to be OK. The worst is over." He let himself fall back off his knees and take a slow whole breath.
After Jake had fallen asleep on the floor mat, knocked out from the sedative and the rum, Jason released the ankle restraints and carefully lifted his body, then carried him into the small cell and laid him on his bed. Jon had outfitted him with the sling to keep the shoulder in place and as immobile as possible, and had instructed Jason to keep ice on the injury for the first day. Jason made sure the towel-wrapped ice bag was still properly in place, and then covered Jake's body with the worn blanket.
Jason left a glass of water for the boy on the chest of drawers. Jon insisted that he ensure that Jake stay hydrated, and believed that Jake's normal way of drinking --- the water bowl on the floor --- would be impossible in his condition, so Jason relented. Jon further insisted that the boy needed real food for the first few days, said that Jake's body would be focused on recovering from its trauma and would need quite a bit of energy. Jason explained that Jake was being punished for an earlier bout of disobedience --- hence the dog food --- but that he would make sure the kid ate well while he recovered.
Jon suggested once more that Jake should get X-rays and an informed opinion of the state of his shoulder, and Jason refused, said the boy would be fine in a few days. So Jon made him promise to give Jake ibuprofen tablets when he was in pain, and to let Jon know if the pain became severe again. He also warned Jason to lay off the rough stuff for a while, that Jake's arm needed plenty of time to recover properly.
Jason locked the door of the jail cell, and then placed the bit gag in the lavatory for Jake to wash, and returned the blindfold to the equipment cabinet. With that, he flipped the light switch, bathing the basement in total darkness, and locked the dungeon door, doubly sealing the kid inside.
The men returned to the main part of the house, Jason carrying the remainder of the rum. At the kitchen table, he poured it into two glasses and offered one to Jon.
"Bottoms up," he said quietly.
"Does he always sleep down there?" Jon asked.
"Mostly, yes. Sometimes, if he's been really good, I'll let him sleep with me. Not very often though. I don't want him getting too attached to that. But if he's due a reward --- and he knows I firmly believe in a system of punishment and reward --- then he'll get a furlough from the basement."
"Are you always so hard on him, man?"
Jason took a drink from his glass. Tapped his foot nervously. "Look, I went too far with him tonight, OK? I know that. Sometimes I forget that he's human, just like I am. I will make it up to him after he's better. But he also knows his place, Jon. He knows what I expect of him, and he knows that when he doesn't deliver, there are consequences."
"You said earlier that you've hurt him before," Jon said.
"Yeah, I have. Bruises. Cuts. I accidentally broke his right index and middle fingers a while back. But nothing like this. This one scared me."
"I think he'll be fine, he just needs a little down time."
"Listen... I had no intention of getting you all mixed up in this, man. I appreciate your help, more than you know. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been here. I probably would have hurt him even worse. So thank you." Jon nodded his head, said nothing. "I know you have a million questions. I suppose I owe you some answers."
"Who is this kid, Jason? How old is he?"
"His name is Jake. He turned fifteen a few months ago. I've known him for a couple of years now."
"Oh my God, Jason. You're fucking a minor?!"
"Jon, don't sit there and judge me, OK? You could have left before I ever opened that basement door tonight. You could leave now. Nothing is keeping you here, except your own morbid curiosity, so don't you dare sit there and judge me. Got it?"
"Jason--"
"It's just one of those things that is what it is, man. That's all I know to say. He's devoted to me. And I to him. It is what it is."
"What it is is fucking illegal, you goddamn well know that!" Jon yelled. "You're a lawyer, for God's sake!"
"Jon, he's here by choice, all right? He came here with me by choice."
"Chained up in a basement, by choice?! Are you serious?"
"Dead serious." Jason finished his drink and slammed the glass onto the table. "Dead serious."
"Well this I have to hear."
"I worked in Savannah, Georgia for seven years before I came back to Shreveport. Made quite a name for myself there." He rose from the table to grab a cold beer. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be a successful lawyer, and a practicing, sexually fulfilled gay man in Savannah fucking Georgia?"
"I was afraid to ask. If you... if you're gay. I didn't know how."
"Well, I am, Jon. But you don't have to be. Being a master is all about power, ultimately. It's control." He popped the tab on the beer can and took a swig. "But I'll tell you something you can bank on: the sex is hot enough to convert anybody. I guarantee it." Jon felt his dick respond to the thought. "First time I fucked him... swear to God, that was it. I didn't want anything else, man. He sucks my cock three times as well as any woman has ever sucked yours, I'd bet my life on it."
"Jason, he's a kid. You've got a kid eating dog food in an underground jail cell," Jon said.
"I don't expect you to understand this, Jon. Really, I don't. And I'm telling you, if there had been ANY other way, there's no chance in hell I'd have brought you here tonight to see this. And there's no way I can spin it so that it sounds all neat and pretty. I get off on the fact that I own him. No matter what I'm doing, I'll get an image of pushing my dick into his sweet tight ass when I get home, and I'm rock hard for the rest of the goddamned day. I get so hard I can't even fucking walk. And I love it. I love that he depends on me, literally. That I control everything about his life -- when he eats, when he shits, when he comes, when he sees daylight. He's MINE. I own his body. I own his mind. It's a responsibility I take very seriously, too, and I make mistakes, as you can see. But he turns me on, Jon. Jesus, I'm thirty-seven years old and he gets my dick harder than it ever got when I was sixteen, I promise." He could see that Jon wasn't completely buying the story. "And listen, don't get clouds in your eyes, my friend. Don't go thinking this kid is some innocent little scamp who got in over his head with the big bad lawyer. Nothing could be further from the truth."
He wasn't even thirteen yet, man, and he was hustling. Living on the streets. Doing anything he could to survive, to make it another day. He told me his parents turned he and his older sister out when he was eleven. She was seventeen or eighteen, I think he said, and she ran off with her boyfriend. He was alone. Alone and scared.
There are a lot of sick sons of bitches out in the world, a lot of men who will fuck a little boy and get off on it, and I guess I'm one of them because that's exactly what I did. He figured out early in his life -- too fucking early -- that he could make it with just his body, that there are men like me in this world. Men who love boys. I always preferred older teenagers myself, high school boys. The jocks. Testosterone just raging, bodies ready for anything. There's nothing on the planet like fucking a seventeen year old football player, especially if he's a virgin, especially if he puts up a bit of a fight. God help me, there's nothing hotter. And I swear to you, the first night I saw him, out on the street in front of my apartment building, looking all tough and macho, he could've passed for sixteen, even though he was rail thin.... I don't know, maybe I just wanted him to be sixteen so I wouldn't feel so guilty about what I was doing, even though I was a paying customer and he was more than willing.
As soon as he took he his shirt off, upstairs in my apartment, it was clear that he was just a kid. But by that time I had already paid him -- paid the little punk three hundred bucks, can you believe that? That's the number he gave when I asked him how much it would cost me for the whole night. Man, before I even had the bills out of my wallet, he had my dick in his throat. A twelve year old kid was on his knees in front of me, deep throating my cock! It was unbelievable, Jon, it was heaven. You have no comprehension of what it was like. He let me come inside his mouth, two times. He sucked me off twice without even flinching. Incredible, man, just incredible. Then he had the gall to ask me if I was up for more, with that indescribable gleam in his eye, that look of arrogant mischief that he still gets sometimes when he's in the mood to push my buttons. I had to keep reminding myself that he was just a kid, because he spoke and acted with the poise of an adult. He had to learn that early, too, I guess.
So anyway, I told him to get on his goddamned hands and knees and I'd show him exactly what I was up for. He literally threw himself out of his dirty jeans, out of his underwear and socks. He literally leapt onto the bed, immediately in position for me, that small bony ass pointing straight up in the air, right at me. It had been over a month since I had fucked anything other than my hand, and I was so fucking horny, you have no idea. I was so ready for something hot and sweaty, something dirty and raw, and I just shut everything else out of my mind.
My dick popped inside him instantly. It was still soaked from him blowing me. I don't have the biggest dick ever, but I've seen much smaller ones. It slid right inside him, as if it was built specifically to fuck his ass. If I had stopped for just a second to really consider what I was doing, it probably would have turned my stomach. Fucking some kid in my own bed, I mean, how sickening is that? But I wanted it so bad, I just had no control over it. He wanted it too. If he didn't, he put on one hell of a show. He was more into it than I was, man, I'm telling you. It's the truth. He was there on his knees, he had his little back arched, his head was grinding into one of my pillows, and he was screaming at me, daring me to fuck him harder. I was already pounding him, and he was just yelling to go faster, to go harder, deeper. He was panting, he was sweating, he was throwing his ass against my pelvis just as hard as he could. I had just come twice in a ten-minute span, so I knew we were both in for a pretty grueling fuck before I would be able to shoot again, even though I was rock goddamn hard. And it hurt, too. It really did. In a good way -- don't get me wrong, it was fucking fantastic -- but it was painful. My dick was sensitive anyway from coming, plus the friction of being inside his tight ass... Jesus, it was something else, it was like nothing I'd ever experienced in my whole life. This explosion of pain and pleasure, all in the same instant. I had fucked a lot of asses, of all ages, but it was nothing at all like this. Motherfucker, it was hot, it was the best money I had ever spent in my life.
I must have fucked him for a good fifteen minutes, nonstop, hard as I could, before I finally came. My skin literally felt like it was boiling. I swear there was steam rising off my balls, man, that's how hot it was. And they literally ached, too -- my balls, my dick, the backs of my legs. He tried to touch me after I pulled out of him, and I just couldn't stand it.
There was a little puddle of his come on the bedsheet beneath him, and his little dick was still like a block of wood, so I told him I wanted to watch him jerk himself off. Then I propped myself against the headboard of my bed and watched him rise up to his knees, thrust his torso toward me, spit in his hand, and pump his dick, staring right through me the whole time, literally burning his gaze right into me. He was good, he already knew how to play the game, how to fascinate someone and hook them in. He was more mature and attentive and adaptable in that one single fuck than all but a couple of the grown men that I had screwed. He had my attention and he knew it.
My dick had been filthy when I pulled it out of his asshole. I don't suppose he had ever cleaned himself out. So after he came that second time, I told him to follow me into the bathroom. I pulled us both into the shower and showed him my cock, and told him to take a washrag and clean it. He went to his knees again with the lathered rag and he did as he was told, he gently scrubbed it clean. After he was done, he went like he was going to try to suck me off again, and I grabbed him by the ears and shook my head no. I couldn't have gotten it up again, even if I had wanted to. I quickly finished my shower and then told him to take a long one himself.
I was waiting for him by the sink when he stepped out. I chucked him a towel and watched him rub his naked body completely dry. Then I held up an enema bag, which I had already filled with warm water, and watched his eyes carefully and asked him if he knew what it was. He said no, and so I explained the process to him. I told him flat out that he would never see the top of my bed again if he wasn't going to take care of his asshole, his stock in trade. I then told him that we were going to stay in that bathroom, and I was going to keep giving him enemas until he was shitting clean water and nothing else. I could see him hesitate a little -- he wasn't quite sure about this latest wrinkle and that's when his childlike demeanor really shone through. He acted like he wanted to run, but he could see I was blocking the door and that there was no way he could get away from me if he tried it, so he finally just nodded his head and gave me a very quiet, very calm, "Yes, sir." Goddamn it, just hearing him mutter those words... there aren't words for how it felt. Watching him show me real fear, for the first time that whole night, and then hearing him agree to obey me anyway, that was enough to put me over the edge all over again.
I told him to bend over the tub, and then I nudged the enema nozzle into his asshole and loosened the clamp, listening intently to the glug-glug-glug of the warm water as it flowed down the tube into his butt. I told him to hold his cheeks shut and keep it all in -- told him he'd be licking up anything that landed on my bathroom floor. He turned his face to me and told me that I couldn't make him do that, and I said, "Listen to me, you little punk, I bought you for the night, I can do any goddamn thing I want to do to you." He had no response to that, just turned his face back to the wall until all the water was inside him. I removed the nozzle from his clutching hole and told him to stand up. "Five minutes," I told him, and heard him literally gasp and moan. It was already killing him, I could tell. The warm water, the cramps. Have you ever had an enema? It hurts at first, but it ends up feeling really good. And there's just no substitute for fucking a clean asshole. I'm telling you, Jon, there's nothing like it.
He needed four full enemas before he was clean inside, and he was very relieved when I told him that I was finally satisfied. I then informed him that this would be the procedure from then on, that he would clean himself inside and out before my dick ever touched any piece of his body. He looked right at me and said, "What makes you think I'm ever going to see you again?"
You know what I told the prick? I said, "Because I fucked the shit out of your ass tonight, literally. And you loved it with every fiber of your being. And it'll bring you back. You'd get on your hands and knees again right this second if I told you to."
I changed the sheets on my bed then, and told him to get a good night's sleep, that we'd talk more in the morning. The kid was out like a light, man. He must've been exhausted. Evidently he had bounced from shelter to shelter, and stayed wherever he could in between. Dumpsters. Boxes. A friend's house, every once in a while, or a john's place, if he lucked out and picked up a nice guy. Most guys kicked him out the door without even letting him get off, and a lot of guys didn't even take him to a home, they just fucked him in a dark alley, or in the backseat of their car.
The next morning, I washed and dried the clothes he had been wearing, and made him a big breakfast, every bit of which he literally inhaled. Pancakes, bacon, juice, toast, the whole thing. And he admitted to me that he was only twelve years old -- "thirteen in three weeks," that's what he told me, as if that made it any better. Told me his name was Jake, Jake Talbot. Told me about his family disowning him. Asked if I wanted to fuck again. I turned him down, I was still exhausted and sore from the workout the night before. I can still fuck like I did when I was seventeen, don't get me wrong, but there's a price to pay now when I overdo it. My body tells me all about it for a couple of days, it reads me the riot act.
I had to get ready for work then, so it was time to send him on his way. He hadn't gone to school for two years, he told me. He said he went to movies during the day, or the local museum. The library, sometimes. Said he really liked to read.
As he was leaving, he asked me when I wanted to get together again. I told him -- a little coldly, I'll admit -- that I'd find him whenever I was ready to ride his ass again. He tried then to give me a kiss goodbye, and I turned my head as he moved in. "You're just a fucking prick like all the rest of them, I knew it," he told me, and then slammed the door when he left.
It was out of necessity, it had to be done. I couldn't have this kid thinking he was anything other than a nice fuck. I wasn't looking for a boyfriend, or even a regular lover, and certainly not a teenage lover. I didn't pay for him to get goodbye kisses and good morning fucks. I paid for a piece of ass, and I got it. And I needed to get that point across from the outset.
Of course, the fuck was intoxicating, man. It was all I thought of for a week afterward, my dick moving in and out and in and out of his talented ass. He was just... heaven. I know how wrong it was, really I do, but I couldn't help it. It was already done, and I didn't regret that it happened for a second. I never claimed to be a saint, and I'll bet you in a perfect world that no other man with a working dick would have turned the kid away that night. Gay or not, hot sex is hot sex, and he just had that... I don't know, that aura. He had the smell of hot sex, from the very beginning.
Anyway.... It was maybe ten days later, and he was waiting at the door of my building one night, waiting for me to get home. Told me he wanted another night, told me that he'd never been with anybody like me. I asked him how long he'd been hustling. The kid had been getting fucked by horny, classless men since he was eleven, Jon. That's what he told me. Told me he had no other choices. I told him that I wasn't in the mood to fuck him that night, that I was over it, and he literally dropped to his knees, right there on the sidewalk, and started begging me to let him inside. Begging me to fuck him the way I had fucked him that first night, that he needed to get off, needed to feel real. That's what he said, that he wanted to feel real. I smiled at him and told him that there would be no money exchanging hands this time. He said he didn't care, said all he wanted was me inside him. So I told him to follow me upstairs, clean out his hole, and get himself ready for another tough fuck.
Didn't even let him make it out of the bathroom, either. I made him brace himself against the bathroom sink, rubbed a few drops of lube on my dick, and went for it. Grabbed him by both shoulders and told him to hang on. Gave him a mean fuck. It was even better the second time, too, it really was.
Right before I was about to shoot inside him, I grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head toward mine. "I want you to listen to me, very carefully," I told him. "If you EVER call me a fucking prick again and then slam my door on your way out, I'll make sure you live to regret it. Am I clear?" He moaned and gargled something out, and I pulled tighter. "Am I CLEAR?!" He gave me a stern "yes sir" and I shoved his head down onto the sink.
Told him, right as I was coming, "I can make your life a living hell, Jake Talbot, and don't you forget that."
Jon found the rest of the story to be fairly straightforward: Jason and Jake fell into a routine over the next eighteen months, wherein the boy would come to the apartment on Friday nights, cleanse himself with the warm water as he was instructed, and join his older lover in bed. As they learned better each other's bodies, the sex got more satisfying and more adventurous. Jason slowly began introducing items and ideas to enhance the experience: different positions at first, followed by a series of butt plugs, followed by dildos, followed by handcuffs. Jason was -- without even completely realizing it at first -- gradually gaining control over the kid, who was happy to do anything as long as it meant he could stay in this man's bed for as long as possible.
Then Jason got the job in Shreveport -- a major step forward for his career, which he had always made his number one priority -- and everything changed instantly. After an intense Friday night fuck -- the majority of which Jake spent with ankles and wrists lashed to the headboard, sucking on a used butt plug while being ravaged by Jason's biggest dildo yet -- he broke the news to Jake that he would soon be leaving Savannah for good, and that their affair, which had been so wrong in so many ways, would be ending. Jake was awash in tears before Jason had even finished, professing that he loved the man, that he wanted to go with him to Louisiana, that he'd do anything. Jason told him it wasn't possible -- that he would be working in the D.A.'s office, that he fully intended to be the D.A one day, and then mayor if all went according to his long-percolating plans, and that there was no way the future mayor could be seen with a teenage hustler. Jake told him repeatedly that he loved him, that he'd die without him, that he needed Jason, always. Jason refuted all of it, said he was too fucking young to know about love. "I know you love me back," Jake told him, and Jason simply said no. Told him again that he wasn't taking a teenager to Shreveport, no matter how good the sex was. Told him that they should never have started this twisted relationship and that it would be the best thing for both of them to end it. Jake insisted that he couldn't end it, that he'd follow Jason to Shreveport or anywhere else he went. Insisted that he'd do anything -- whatever it took, whatever was necessary -- to stay in his life.
The next morning, after sleeping on it, Jason got up and cooked them breakfast, just as he had for months. As they ate, Jason told him once more that he had no room in his life for a teenage boyfriend, that there would no reasonable way to explain it to anyone, and that he had no interest in starting his new life with old baggage. Jake pleaded with him to reconsider, and Jason informed him that there was one option -- there was a single way that Jake could stay in his life. Jake gave the man his full attention, hung on Jason's every word. Jason looked straight at him and made the offer, an offer he'd actually been mulling for weeks:
Jake could become his slave.
"And so I laid it all out for him, right there at the table," Jason told Jon, who continued listening, intrigued and stunned by the story. "I told him that he would submit to me, completely. That I would become his master. That he would give up his freedom. That he would exist solely to satisfy me physically. That I would find us a house here, with a cellar or something that we could turn into a dungeon, and that he would live there for the rest of his life, with me, under my control. I told him that he would eat when I wanted him to, drink when I wanted him to, fuck when I wanted him to... told him all the decisions would be mine. I had been thinking about it for a while, the idea had been simmering for months. Our relationship had slowly turned completely authoritarian anyway; I mean, when we were in bed, the kid was putty in my hands. And I had always loved stuff like that -- bondage porn, stories, videos. Loved the idea of whips and gags and leather. Loved the idea of owning someone. And all of a sudden I had this dumb kid telling me he'd do anything to stay with me, and I thought about it that whole night. It seemed crazy at first, but the longer I considered it, the more possible it seemed. I had been reading all kinds of things on the net about real masters and slaves, I had joined a few online mailing lists, so I was pretty sure I had a few places to turn to for advice, for help, for whatever. All of a sudden, I was completely excited. Ecstatic at the thought of owning this boy, of watching him grow up with me, of training him to be completely subservient, a slave to my needs.
"So we finished breakfast, and I told him to think hard on it for the rest of the week, and to have an answer for me when he came back the following Friday. Made sure he understood what I had in mind for him: if he said yes, he would be mine, no freedom, no turning back. There would be no changing his mind. Outbursts would be punished. Disobedience would be punished.
"I was sure he'd say no. I mean, who in their right mind would agree to something like what I was offering? It was nuts. But then, our entire relationship had been nuts.
"So I spent that whole week on pins and needles, just waiting for Friday to arrive so that I could hear his answer and move forward, either way.
"It was finally Friday. I knocked off early from work, wanted to be sure I was at the apartment when he got there. I buzzed him up when he got there, and let him in when he knocked on the door, and told him to go clean himself. I had a nonstop hard-on that whole fucking day and I was ready to lose it.
"I was laying on the bed when he stepped out of the bathroom. My cock was ready for him. Standing straight up. I told him to come sit on it and fuck himself with it, as hard as he could. Told him I wasn't going to move, that he'd be doing all the work.
"He shot twice before I finally came. Rode me hard, too. The kid literally ground his entire body onto mine. It was wild. After I shot my load, I told him to get off of me and lick his come off of my chest and stomach. I had made him do that a couple of times before, and I knew he hated it -- he didn't like the flavor at all. But it turned me on and he knew it, and he did it without complaint.
"When he was done, he sat up in bed looking right into my eyes. I told him calmly that I was ready to hear his decision. A big tear slid down his cheek, and he looked away from me for a second, and then he turned back and nodded his head. I asked him if that meant yes, and he nodded again. Another couple of tears. I told him I wanted to hear him say the words. He told me he couldn't. I told him that it didn't count if he didn't tell me the words. He was fighting a full-body crying jag by this time, and I reached up and grabbed his arm. Told him to say the words, or to get the hell out of my apartment and never come back.
"He took two really big deep breaths. Stuffed back the tears. Looked me square in the eyes. God, Jon, the words were just heaven. The moment was unreal. So satisfying. It was everything I had been dreaming of.
"He said, 'I'll be your slave, sir.'"
NOTE: I promise we'll return to Steven in the next part. I know this portion got a little long and off the beaten path, but I made the decision to follow the story wherever it wanted to lead me, and this is the fruit of that journey. Thanks to you all for hanging in there with me, and as always, feedback -- positive and negative -- is always welcome: DarkMaster04@webtv.net. These stories are all for you guys that read them, so don't be afraid to have opinions about them.