Date: Thu, 06 Mar 2008 09:28:24 -0500 From: carl_mason@verizon.net Subject: DENNY LAWRENCE - 8 DENNY LAWRENCE - 8 Copyright 2008 by Carl Mason All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. However based on real events and places, "Denny Lawrence" is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. As in real life, sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at carl_mason@verizon.net If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive. This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, remember that maturity generally demands safe sex. CHAPTER 8 (Revisiting Chapter 7) Due to working with Nate, it was quite late when he finally began preparing to go home. Not long before he left the Center, three teens were brought in by the EMTs. He overheard that they came from the same party where they had overdosed. Treatment had already begun as Denny walked out the door and saw that parents and friends of the teens were arriving. To his utter horror, two of their friends were among the group with whom he had used hard drugs. Further, they recognized him in his white coat, shirt, and pants just about as quickly as he recognized them. This problem had not come up in Family Court, and he wasn't at all sure that Pat Mahan knew anything about it. He had hoped that it would never be necessary to tell him. (Continuing Our Story - The Way of Truth Is Long and Hard) "No, Pat...er I mean yes. Yes, I knew about this during the trial. I didn't say anything about my drug use because 1) it didn't come up, and 2) I was afraid that if I did, I'd be standing trial in Superior Court as an adult. Sensenbrenner wasn't in the best of moods!" "You've received our trust and our love, Denny. In keeping the full story from us, do you think you've played square? After all," Pat added, "many people want nothing to do with addicts anymore than they do with alcoholics. For some it's a matter of putting scarce resources where they can do the most good. Shouldn't Baylor Associates have had that choice? Shouldn't I have had that choice?" The tears beginning to spill from his eyes down his cheeks, the seventeen year-old set his chin and plowed doggedly ahead. "You should have had that choice, sir. The truth, sir, is that I've tried both cocaine and heroin. That's part of why I said in Court that I didn't want that life anymore. I don't know why the doctor missed it in his examination, but he did. I don't really care. I just want the record straight between us. I haven't used that crap since...not once!" The boy looked at Dr. Mahan with regret...and with growing fear. He had done so well since the Court - and Pat Mahan - had given him a second chance. His desire to reach out and touch the man whom he so loved was like a red-hot coal searing his heart - but he didn't dare. It was beginning to look as if he'd really blown it. "There's more, sir, and it's worse...I think. The drug dealer got in touch with me through the friends of a guy who overdosed. He claims that I never paid for my last drugs and that the bill and the interest have been mounting ever since. He claims that I now owe him fifteen thousand dollars!" "HOLY SHIT, Denny!" Pat exploded. "Is that true?" The young man who stood before him presented a picture of utter despair. Wiping the sweat from his eyes with the back of his hands, he looked as if he might collapse at any minute. "I guess I forgot it, sir - but it was only $500.00, not fifteen thousand!" "You GUESS you forgot' it." As Pat Mahan dramatically threw his hands in the air and strode out of the room, Denny Lawrence dropped into a nearby chair and broke into sobs that said he was not only terrified, but that his heart was breaking. Communication between the two men dried up markedly over the next week. Dr. Mahan gave no sign of being interested in pulling Denny's chestnuts out of this fire. Nothing was attempted on school matters. Denny continued to go to the Emergency room...out of habit more than anything else. Everything seemed to be on hold. Actually, he felt that he was being watched, but he said nothing either to Pat or to Dr. Powell. Coming home late one night, he was sure that footsteps he heard were not his own. When he looked, however, the street behind him was empty. On Saturday, as he stood outside washing Pat's car, a bullet whistled by his head and put a hole in a window. Perhaps it would be best, friends and workmates suggested, if he moved out of Dr. Mahan's home. Two nights later as he made his way home, a van pulled up alongside him. Two toughs threw a tarp around him and, holding a knife at his throat, pulled him into the van. When he neither returned home nor went into work the next day, Pat Mahan scarcely knew what to think - or what he should do. Paralyzed by pain and indecision, he did nothing. No Longer an Honored Guest Bound, blindfolded, hustled out of the van and into a large underground area, Denny eventually found himself sprawled on the floor of a richly appointed room. Seated just in front of him was the area drug lord, Raoul Dirksen. "You don't pay your debts, Mr. Lawrence," he purred ominously. "Should we attempt to convince Dr. Mahan and others around you to be of assistance in your eleventh hour?" Struggling to rise, the youth replied, "I know of no one who has that kind of money, Dirksen. Besides, it's my responsibility, and mine alone." "I trust you realize I cannot allow you to escape payment, muchacho. Others would get the same idea," Dirksen said quietly. In rapid- fire Spanish, the powerful criminal ordered Denny to be held for "Lazky's people" who would arrange for his sale as a slave on the international black market. "Before we are finished, muchacho, you will repay your debt - and provide me a little profit at the same time," he promised in a virtually emotionless voice. Ordering that the boy be cleansed inside and out and strapped securely to a fuck bench, the drug lord took him that evening in the detention area. Afterwards, sitting next to the naked, trembling youth, he offered some well-meant advice. "You need to realize that you are dead to the world, young man. Repeat this to yourself continually, adjust to things as they are, and focus only on pleasing your master. With your beauty and youth, life will be considerably more tolerable if you do." With that, he reached out and fondled Denny's genitals, saying, "I wish you well. I wish you a productive life." The slave factor Bertram Lazky took possession of Denny the next morning. His staff promptly saw to the youngster's physical condition, fought his depression by giving him drugs and hope where they was no hope, and placed a coded ad on the internet that gave his particulars, provided several photos, and announced his imminent sale. Interested parties might send representatives to his Irish facilities to inspect the magnificent young slave and, if approved, to take part in the auction that would be held on 19 August. Bidding for this most desirable object would begin at two hundred fifty thousand dollars, US. Over the next two weeks, the agents of several wealthy figures visited the slave factor in order to inspect Denny. Lazky found three to have the requisite resources to win his ownership: a "New Russian" entrepreneur, a Gulf sheikh, and a mysterious recluse from the United States. Given the popular prices of slaves - even those who stood at the pinnacle of their service - the required opening bid at Lazky's was seen to be ridiculous. Well, everyone to his own tastes...and pocketbook. In fact bidding quickly raised Denny's price until it approached one million dollars, US. The small group of formally dressed onlookers who were allowed to witness the auction gasped. Never had such prices been bid for the finest of slaves. The sheikh, the absolute ruler of a bar of infinitely oil-rich sand jutting out into the Gulf, made the penultimate bid of nine hundred thousand dollars. The mysterious American figure immediately countered with a bid of one million dollars! At that point, the sheikh dropped out, saying, "A pretty thing, but no slave is worth that kind of money." Clearly, the mysterious stranger felt differently. *** A beautifully fashioned coffin stood on the basement floor of an old, palatial home that overlooked the Atlantic well out on the Island, i.e., Long Island. The woods were rich; the hardware, the finest available. Nearby was a padded table that an old man, Tomas, had wheeled next to a medium-sized table. A profusion of soaps, shampoos, washcloths, washbasins, towels, and the like crowded the table. Finally, the old man went over to the stairs that led up to the kitchen and pantries and shouted for Stefan to come below. A younger guy, dressed somewhat formally as if he were a house servant, helped the old man carefully to unseal the coffin, remove the heaviest of the inner wrappings and the emergency air supply, and to lift the figure inside onto the padded table. Stefan then returned upstairs. Gently, the old man removed the remaining wrappings, smiling as the stunning body of a naked young man was disclosed. Immediately, he cleaned a small area of the youngster's chest with alcohol, took a syringe from a tray and injected the clear liquid it held directly into his heart. For about a half hour, he puttered, washing a smudge of dirt from the figure's face, moving his right thigh to a potentially more comfortable position, clipping his fingernails (which weren't all that long in the first place), and beginning to clean up from the helicopter delivery. When he heard a low moan and the sound of light choking, he immediately returned to the table. After quickly wiping the boy's face and upper body with a damp washcloth, he helped him to sit up. From that point on, his recovery from the airfreight trip was rapid and free of setbacks. It had to have been close to seven, for lights were on in the basement and there was a smell of food in the air. Denny, who had been lying on the sofa, raised up on one elbow and wondered if he could have something to eat. "Calm ye, calm ye," Tomas scolded. "You have been several days without food. When Stefan beings it downstairs, I shall give you a little broth. If you keep it down, we shall do considerably better in the morning." With a wide smile, he added, "Now lie back and be a good lad!" Perhaps 15 or 20 minutes later, Tomas came over with a nice bowl of fresh beef broth with a couple soda crackers and, sitting on the edge of the sofa, fed it to him. "Well now, laddie, how was that for tonight?" he asked quietly when the last spoonful had been consumed. Affectionately, he reached over and brushed the dark blond hair out of his eyes. Despite his firm intention to "stay strong," tears trickled down the cheeks of the seventeen year old. "Oh, Tomas, what am I going to do? Do you know that the last memory I have before arriving here was of being fucked while strapped to a bench! What kind of life is that?" "Laddie! Laddie!," Tomas comforted him. "That was then; this is now. That was there; this is here. You're home lad! You're safe! You've got a master who loves ye, a master who takes care of ye, a master who is a great man respected by all far and wide. I became a slave at the age of 16, Denny, and I've been a slave for 60 years. Do you see me weepin' and fearin'? Do you want me to tell you how to make it through this life in fine style?" "Please, Tomas - and thanks so very much," Denny answered. "Very well, stripling. Remember this: All that matters in this world is you and your master. Think of him with love and find ways to please him. When you awaken in the morning, let his face smile down upon you. When you go to sleep at night, let the last image you see be the face of your beloved master. Let every good thing you do during the day be done in his name, and let none hear but his praises from your lips. I promise that you will find that your whole life makes sense as its parts finally work together harmoniously. See what I mean?" "Yes, Tomas, I think so...and I will try." "You are very fortunate to be here, youngster. I know you will. As your great beauty adds light and grace to my days, I shall help you in every way possible. Now, hear this: I believe the master must be close to finishing dinner. I expect that he will be down here to inspect his new purchase before long. Make old Tomas proud!" As usual, Tomas knew what was going to happen in the mansion at least a half hour before it happened. It was not too long before the master made an appearance, although he seemed to hesitate a moment before finally allowing the light to uncover his identity. Asking Tomas to leave them, he walked over to the padded table where Denny was sitting. For a minute or two, the youngster's heart warred with his mind. Whatever else might be said, Oliver Culver had made him a SLAVE, an owned object rather than a free human being. Then, however, his mind's eye pictured him that last night in New York City, and the fire and blood left his eyes. It pictured him as he grasped the elder man's hand, pulled it against him, and guided its touching him intimately (see Chapter 6). Further, he knew that Culver so loved him that a million dollars was not enough to keep them apart. Suddenly, his own thoughts receded into the background as he listened to the powerful silver hair's words. "I knew I loved you from the first moment that I came out from behind my desk in the City. When I saw you nude for the first time on that dais, I thought I needed nothing more in this world before I could die happy. You had given me everything. When the great poets of the Classical Age thought of beauty, they clearly had you in mind. "Hear me out, Denny. I no longer can treat you like an honored guest, for fate has decreed that you are a slave, and slavery is for life. Nevertheless, if you will submit to me as your master, giving me complete, immediate, and cheerful obedience, I shall give you a life far better than any you could dream. I do not need your full answer tonight though I do pray that you will eventually open your heart to me as you did that night in the City. By way of a "short answer," Denny leapt down off the gurney, fell to his knees, and pressed his forehead against the cement floor. Culver immediately helped him rise to his feet in a warm embrace that quickly evolved into a passionate kiss. To Be Continued