Taking Wally to Gaytown, part 5 (redbeardedsf @ yahoo.com)
(This story is inspired by Waddie Greywolf, who was himself inspired by Richard Davies. Greywolf allowed me to read an advance chapter of a story that is as-yet unpublished. His story is about a fundamentalist Christian father in Texas who enslaves his sons. My story about a father and his sons is very different from Waddie's, but it is based in the same universe and was inspired by reading Waddie's story.)
(This is a fantasy story set in a world in which slavery exists. This story includes gay sex, some of which happens between an adult man of 18 and older men. If any of this is offensive to you or if it's illegal to read such a story in your jurisdiction, go away now. If you have trouble differentiating between reality and fantasy, do not read this story - go get help now.)
After all I had been through, enslaving my 18-year-old son, spending a day in the strange environment of the Gaytown slave hall, and then joining my son's new owner, the Major, for his bizarre birthday celebration, I knew that my boy was still being used roughly downstairs. I had clearly drunk too much and had thought I couldn't keep my eyes open another minute. But here I was listening to the Major's rotund friend, Warren, tell me the story of the Major's birthday celebration 20 years earlier.
Warren had described a handsome and powerfully built man, a low-wage employee of the Major's company, who had brought his son along on a delivery to the Major's house. The Major plied the father with alcohol, but then he made the man very uncomfortable by talking about homosexuality and talking about how attractive he found the man. When the employee was offered a chance to earn $1,000 if he would strip to his underpants and remain at the party that way, he felt this would do him no harm, but he glanced to his son and indicated an awkwardness with the boy present. The Major, in the most lighthearted way, changed his offer to $2,000 if both father and son would hang out at the party in just underpants.
Warren was savoring my interest in his story as he continued, "But how to get the boy to buy into being undressed? The Major took control of the situation, as he usually does. He called the boy to join us, announced that the party was moving inside, and said since it was all stag and no women, it would be an underwear party. The Major had his arm around the dad's shoulder and he said, 'All us guys stripped to just underpants. Right, buddy?' This fellow Martin gives a positive response. So the Major turns to Cody and says, 'And that includes you too, young fella.' Cody whined at his father that he wanted to go home. But hell, Martin was already counting on that $2,000, so he scolded the boy to act polite to the nice gentlemen.
"Soon we're down in a big game room and all of us in just undershorts. One guest wasn't wearing any underwear, so the Major gave him this small little scrap of fabric that barely covered anything. I remember I wore red bikinis that day." Warren paused and looked at me pointedly as he added, "Back then I had a 32 inch waist and went to the gym four days a week, so there were plenty of men who liked seeing me in a pair of red bikini underpants."
Returning to his story, Warren's eyes glazed over as he said, "Of course all eyes were on the father and son as they undressed to their white briefs. The boy was at an age where he was shy about his body, even though he was toned and trim without an ounce of fat on him. You could tell he hated the idea of all these strange men seeing him in just his underpants. He was clinging beside his dad. But the Major, wearing just a pair of boxers, his chest very impressive back then, patted the sofa next to him and asked the boy to join him. What was the dad going to do? His filthy rich boss and all - he told his son to go sit next to the nice gentleman.
"The Major is asking the boy about his athletics and about his muscles and all this time the Major is touching the boy's body, pretending he's interested in the kid's muscle development. You could see the dad was getting real uncomfortable, but we'd just refill the man's drink and he'd just tell Cody to be a good boy. Finally, the Major had one hand feeling up the boy's butt and his other hand stroking his own erection that was now sticking out of the fly of his boxers. The kid jumped up, ran across the room and wrapped his arms around his daddy's chest calling out, 'Daddy don't let him. These guys are homos, daddy. I wanna go home.' Now the dad, clearly still thinking of the $2,000, is hemming and hawing and saying things like, 'well, maybe this has gone a little too far, sir.' So the Major stands up, not caring about his erection waving in front of him, and says, 'I'll give you $10,000 for the boy.' It was at that moment I thought the dad really would leap across the room and start punching the Major.
"But before that handsome employee could respond, the Major said, 'I'll make it $20,000.' Then, in the most businesslike way he says he wants to make sure the man has legal rights to enslave the boy. This was one of those southern states where the father of the house had all authority and the mother didn't have to be involved at all. This gets that dad flustered. Remember the man was pretty drunk by that time and he was talking about how he was the father and he had sole legal rights over his son. The Major announced in front of the whole room that this employee only earned $24,000 a year and therefore he would offer the man that amount for his enslaved son - a year's salary.
"This whole time the boy is whimpering things like, 'but I'm not a slave' and 'my daddy loves me, he wouldn't enslave me.' And the man starts echoing those same words, saying he loves his son and would never enslave him. Then a voice pipes up rattling off statistics. It seems the State Attorney General was one of the guests at the party - he was way older than us, bald on top and only white hair on his chest. He was the voice of reason explaining to this drunken father that trying to raise four children on a salary that low it was very likely at least one of his sons would be enslaved for life on some criminal charges. He even gave pretty good odds that two of the sons would end up enslaved.
"The boy is still clinging to his dad's bare chest. The dad is shaking his head and starts weeping drunken tears all about how he doesn't want to see any of his boys criminally enslaved. The Attorney General was a smooth talker. He goes on about how if a boy is criminally enslaved there's no telling who his owner might be and the family doesn't get a dime, whereas if this man would sell his cute son into slavery that very afternoon, his boy would have a good master, and the family would be well cared for financially.
"Another guest there owned the local bank. He talked about how proud Cody should be about entering slavery because it would help the rest of the family. You notice the conversation was turning in a direction where the boy's enslavement was already a given. The boy starts whimpering that his daddy would never enslave him. But before he gets very far, the Major calls out '$48,000! That's the amount you earn in two year's time, Martin. Think of how far that would go with one less mouth to feed.'
"I saw a dazed look on the employee's face. Like this was the first moment he seriously thought about enslaving that pretty son of his. Before a minute passed, the Major called out '$72,000 is the amount you'd earn in three years and that's my final offer.' That was when Martin let go of his son, saying that this was talk for the businessmen and that his son shouldn't worry.
The Major called out to me that for safekeeping I should place the boy in a slave cage that was in the corner of that room. The boy protested saying he was a free boy and that we had no right to cage him. But the Attorney General quoted some obscure law that any youth who overheard talk about his own possible enslavement could be reasonably restrained. The boy was bright. He then complained that we had no right to keep him undressed. It turns out the boy's gym bag was in the trunk of the dad's car. The Major had the boy dress in his full baseball uniform, including his cap. Then the boy was placed into the slave cage under my watchful eyes.
"It was nearly two hours later when the group of men returned. The dad had gone off with the Major, the Attorney General and the bank president. I would learn later that they had managed to get into the bank and transfer the funds into the dad's bank account, even though it was the weekend. The Attorney General knew that once the check was cashed and all the papers signed, the father could not change his mind.
"Clearly, the right thing to do when they returned would have been to announce to the boy that he was legally enslaved and to order him to strip naked. But instead they opened the slave cage, apologized to the boy for putting him in there, and acted all friendly to the kid. They offered him ice cream. Now, naturally, he's figuring that any threat of him becoming a slave is now forgotten. So the boy is being really friendly back to the men. They compliment him on how nice he looks in his baseball uniform and he just blushes and grins.
"So, here's Cody sitting on a sofa between the Major and the Attorney General. The boy is finishing his ice cream and answering questions about his baseball team, when the Major starts feeling up the kid's thigh. The boy mumbles for him to stop touching his leg. But the Major ignores him and just talks to the Attorney General about how nice the boy's muscle tone is. So the Attorney General is feeling up the boy's other thigh and he tells the boy to take down his pants so he can feel the skin. The kid really becomes pissed off then and says he won't, and he calls for his dad to get the homos off him. Now all this time the dad is only half awake on a couch across the room, but he's watching the whole thing. He yells back, 'Boy, do what the nice men want. If they tell you to take down your pants, you'll take down your pants.'
"Believe it or not that was the first time I saw tears form in this boy's eyes. He unbuckled and unzipped and peeled his uniform pants down his thighs as slow as he possibly could. Of course he took care to have the shirttails covering his briefs. As the Major and the Attorney General were feeling up the boy's exposed thighs, I reached around from behind pulling open his uniform shirt, and popping some buttons in the process, and pulling up his t-shirt. My hands went to his flat nipples and I began teasing them, while the Major's fingers moved into the leg opening of the boy's white briefs to fondle the kid's balls."
A vision played in my head. Warren was describing the scene I had just witnessed in the parlor involving my newly enslaved son, Wally. The Major had wanted his new slave to get dressed in his free boy clothes, and then he had his guests feel up Wally's legs, tell him to take down his pants. Could Warren actually be describing something that happened 20 years earlier? Or was he confused and just rattling off what he had witnessed that night?"
As if he read my mind, a gentle smile played across Warren's mouth and he said, "Yes, the scene with Wally tonight was the Major's attempt to re-enact that birthday celebration 20 years earlier. Cody, the boy he bought on his 40th birthday, also ended up bent over a table while the Major took his virginity. The boy's father was also the first one in his mouth, just as you were the first to use Wally's mouth."
My voice went a little frenetic as I said, "No, no, it's not the same. I found those gay sex pictures among my son's things. I legally enslaved him and had bids on him long before the Major laid eyes on Wally. It's not like I just got drunk at a party and..." Losing my train of thought I then ranted, "And who says I was the first in the boy's mouth? If those pictures of his swim teammates are any indication I'm guessing he's used that mouth plenty."
Warren calmed me down and said, "I know. I know your situation was quite different. But, here's the thing. Every year for his birthday, the Major sets out to find a new slave. Of course now, with his important position, he is careful to make sure the boy is legal age. But he enjoys the ones who are slim, boyish and have a young look, like Wally. Each year he tries to find a boy who's relatively fresh to slavery. He tries to put the boy in clothes and re-enact that scene from his 40th birthday.
"This year was a magical time for the Major. That's why I chose to tell you the story. Don't you see: Your boy was less than 24-hours enslaved; whatever the truth may be, your boy contends that he's heterosexual; you hadn't even given him a slave haircut. And of course the one piece that made the story complete was you, the boy's father, being part of the whole thing."
My mind ran in a different direction and I asked, "The slave boy, Cody, what happened to him?"
"After having quite an evening and a night with Cody, and having someone drive the father home, the Major and I decided it would be wise for us to leave that town. We didn't know how the locals would react hearing the Major had just enslaved their baseball hero. But it turned out the Major's public relations machine was really topnotch. A story ran on the front page of the local paper... well, it made out how the Major had taken an interest in the youth and had offered to help out the family financially. It made the boy out to be a hero for helping his down-and-out family bankroll their future by having himself enslaved. It made the boy's enslavement out to be the Major's way of seeing to the boy's training and his future. Little did they know the sort of training the Major was putting that kid through."
"What happened? Does the Major still own the boy?"
"He sold Cody after about three years. These days the Major gets bored much more quickly and rarely keeps a slave boy more than a year, no matter how cute he is."
When he saw the alarm on my face, Warren went on, "Don't worry about Wally. When the Major likes a slave boy he's very particular about choosing a buyer for the boy. However, I'm sorry to say Cody did not end up doing very well. It turned out that the Major was so indulgent with the boy, so soft on the boy - I suppose he felt some guilt about the circumstances of the boy's enslavement - that he never even paddled the kid. Cody was never treated like a real slave by the Major. So when he went to a new owner, the boy was disobedient and willful. He was strapped so badly and passed on to yet another owner. That pretty white butt of his... such a shame. Nobody was gonna want to use him as a sex slave after that."
Warren just shook his head slowly. I said, "What? Tell me? How did the boy end up? Where did the boy end up?"
Warren patted me on the head and said, "You go to sleep now. You've had a long day."
I wouldn't let Warren stop at that so I asked, "What about the boy's family? What about the father?"
"He did quite well for himself," Warren said, standing now. "The Major kept track of him over the years. The man used the money to open his own business and became wealthy by small town standards. The irony though - well, one of his sons was enslaved for sexual assault on a girl and another son was enslaved for drunk driving. But the youngest son is now partners in the business with his dad."
Warren disappeared from the room turning the lights off. But how could I sleep with so many thoughts dancing in my head? I tried to repeat over and over again the voice of Reverend Flick, my spiritual guide, who always said, "Faggot equals slavery." Since I knew my son was gay, placing him in slavery was the only option. The fact that he'd ended up owned by a wealthy man who wanted to use him for sex - it seemed to me I was making my homo son's dreams come true. The fact that this man was a good Christian who limited his male sexual encounters to slave boys meant that I was satisfied with my son's spiritual future as well.
As I lay in the dark turning all this over in my head I saw a dim light come on in the next room. I turned my face to the wall as I heard feet shuffling in. I heard the voice of my son saying, "But he hurt me bad back there, master."
The Major sounded a little drunk now as he said, "We're going to play a little game now, lad. Any other time you will call me master, because I'm your owner. But just for now I want you to call me grampa."
"Grampa, sir?"
"Just grampa, little fella." Then I heard the sound of a wet sloppy kiss but I couldn't tell what was being kissed. The Major continued, "Here are the pajamas my real grandson wore on his last visit here."
"They're a little tight on me, sir... I mean, grampa."
There was the sound of a smack. I could picture my son being whacked across the butt. It seemed playful though as the Major continued, "That's because my pretty little grandson is getting to be such a big boy now."
I felt calmer now. I was drifting off to sleep, thinking how nice it was for Wally to be playing grampa with the powerful 60-year-old man. Wally had never known either of his real grandfathers.
The last thing I remember was the Major's voice saying, "Now show me where that mean man hurt my little buddy. Grampa will kiss it and make it better for you." Then I was sound asleep.
I woke to a loud alarm and rubbed my eyes. Before I could even see anything I heard the Major's voice saying, "Better get showered if you're going to make it to church with us." I turned in his direction. He was sitting on the edge of the bed naked. My son, Wally, was on his knees in front of the Major, his mouth filled with the man's organ. I saw the boy's face flushing red. He was aware that I was watching him drinking his new master's morning piss.
Turning away from the lurid scene in front of me, I started pulling on my clothes. I stumbled as I did so. The Major was telling me that I couldn't go to his church smelling like a still. I told him how I needed to get home and get to my own church. But that wasn't the truth. I just needed to get out of that house.
The Major led Wally into his open shower room and kept talking to me as the boy adjusted the water. He told me about the new addition he had paid for at his church. They could angle open the rear windows so that the slaves, chained to platforms outside, could see into the service, but none of the parishioners could see the slaves. He told me the slaves always wore straps to hold their genitals and also slave shorts that were pulled down in back when they were shackled to the platforms. That's so the overseers could swing a whip at any butt of a boy who wasn't singing loud enough when it came to the hymns.
I watched as the Major was instructing my son in how to wash him in the shower. The boy's soapy hands moved over the man's chest. Then the Major asked, "Did you get all the soap washed off?" When the boy didn't respond, he commanded, "Use your tongue to check whether all the soap is cleaned off."
My naked son's tongue made contact with the man's right nipple, almost hidden in its field of salt and pepper hair. I also saw that the Major's cock was growing fully erect. He commanded, "On your knees, boy." I called goodbye over my shoulder and was down the stairs two at a time.
Why did I feel so different in the cold light of morning? The previous night I had felt so confident that enslaving Wally was the right thing to do, but now I felt regrets. Plus I couldn't shake the image of my handsome son in the shower about to kneel before the Major's thick erect penis.
The drive back home was nerve wracking. Thoughts were ricocheting through my brain. At one point I felt guilty for the sexual pleasure I had experienced the previous night, my cock exploding down Wally's throat. At another point I felt an erotic thrill thinking of my newly enslaved son in the tattered remains of his blue suit, his legs being held in the air and spread wide as a middle-aged man fucked his ass. I felt grief at the loss of my son. But then I felt peace knowing that the queer boy was owned by a homo who was also a good Christian.
I knew I couldn't keep any of the events of the previous day secret from Reverend Flick, even though I'd be ashamed to confess that I had caroused with homosexuals who were having sex in the same room where I laid naked and observing them.
Even though it was Sunday, the reverend made time for me late in the evening. I sat with him over cups of coffee in the kitchen of his house and started to relate the story of my day with Wally in Gaytown. He could see that when I got to the incidents at the party, I was having trouble telling him of all my actions.
But the reverend was a loving man. As to my being in the company of the Major's homo friends, the reverend reminded me to "hate the sin, not the sinner." He thought it was good for me to see the humanity in these poor men "even though the Lord has turned his back on them," and that I might have lit a spark of hope for salvation deep inside any one of these men.
As to the sexual contact I'd had with Wally, the reverend seemed perplexed about why it so distressed me. He said that Wally, at that time, was a slave and that we both knew that sex with a slave boy did not constitute the sin of homosexuality. As to the fact that Wally had been my son before enslavement, the reverend felt I may have done the boy a great service. He said that what I'd done was one of the gentlest and kindest, yet effective ways to make a newly enslaved boy accept his station. "When a family member uses the new slave just as if it were any other slave - nothing else so clearly says that the boy is truly a slave in everyone's eyes."
By this time the reverend and I had moved on to drinking brandy. He had made me feel better about the entire situation I'd been through. He even exclaimed, "Good heavens, the boy was a queer who wanted to indulge in perverse acts with men. Now he's a slave boy who will be used for disgusting sexual acts by men. You've made Wally's fantasies come true." I had to laugh. I had kept telling myself words very similar to that the previous day.
Our conversation took a quiet tone when I expressed concern about telling Will of his older brother's enslavement. "The boy will be upset, no doubt. But with time he'll see that he now gets all of daddy's love and attention without having to share. Plus, he's a reasonable kid, he'll come to see it was better to get a homo like Wally out of our community."
Of course I committed myself to giving the church a large chunk of the $120,000 payment as a tithe. Without the guidance of Reverend Flick and the church, my family situation would not have worked out as beautifully as it did.
It is now very late on Sunday evening. Actually I see the sky getting lighter and the sun is beginning to rise. I stayed awake because I had to get this entire story down on paper. Before I go to sleep I will post this story to my Christian father's group. I invite my fellow members to pass this story along to anyone they feel might benefit from reading it. Dear Reader, if my experience with my beautiful son Wally has brought a smile to your lips or helped you to consider the many ways that a father and son can interact, then that's my blessing to you.
THERE IS ONE MORE CHAPTER TO COME! This was the ORIGINAL ENDING of the story. Having started with the 17 members of an online Christian father's group, this story was passed around the Internet and translated into eleven languages that we know of.
HOWEVER, A POSTSCRIPT TO THE ORIGINAL STORY APPEARED more than two years after the original posting. One of the members of the father's online group who had received the original story directly from the nameless storyteller, authenticated that the postscript had indeed come from the same man.
If you feel content with the happy ending of this main part of the story, we urge you NOT to read the postscript. Some disturbing facts came to light that caused the man who wrote the postscript to change a great deal over those two years.
(CHAPTER SIX TO FOLLOW!)