Date: Wed, 18 Sep 2013 15:18:19 -0400
From: Douglas Marx <douglas.marx.4@gmail.com>
Subject: Born; Chapter 14; Story codes: M, MM, SM, bd

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Story codes: M, MM, SM, bd

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Born – Chapter Fourteen

"BANK EXEC ACCUSED EMBEZZLEMENT" The headline of the paper seized my
attention.  "Read all about it!" I could hear a little kid say in an old
movie.  I stared at the city's newspaper in the metal box.  I never buy the
paper, let alone keep up on current affairs.  Yet, I had to read this
story.

Mr. Brown was accused of embezzling money.  He had been arrested at the
bank yesterday morning.  The police had gone through his house.  The
article went on to write about the dungeon and the wild sex parties that
occurred there.  Knowing from personal experience, the paper was
exaggerating.  There had been only one sex party, the night of my ringing.
Everything else, except for that one day I was fucked by all twelve men,
had been just Mr. Brown or the nurse, or the grocer.  Now, I don't know
what had happened prior, but it was obvious the article was a sensualized
piece focusing more on the dungeon and the depravity that had to have gone
on there, than Mr. Brown and the others stealing millions of dollars from
the bank; seemed rather funny to me in an odd sort of way.

Now I knew why there was such a pall over the house in the last few months.
Mr. Brown must have known something was going wrong.  My intuition had sure
taken care of me this time.  If I had been there when the cops raided the
house, I would have been part of the sensationalism.  Naturally, I wouldn't
be a part of the arrest because I was unaware of what was going on; but,
would have been part of the front page news.  I also would have been out of
a job immediately and it probably would have been difficult to get another
job other than another slave position being designated as a sex slave by
our fair city.  The most important reason was to save embarrassment for my
parents.  I was so glad I got out of that house in advance of this
happening.

As I read further, I found that all twelve of the men had been indicted.
Dr. Gatz's career in particular was being ruined on the front page as it
went on to describe that he did "sex surgeries".  In other words, they
wrote about things like my ringing.

The grocer was mentioned too and later in the day I learned that people
were protesting outside the store almost to a riot.  Within a few days, the
grocery store closed permanently.  I wondered whatever happened to that boy
that helped me escape.  I had sent him the money immediately after he drove
me to the DMV.  I'm sure he would be ok.  I decided not to call.  If the
police did come to question me, I wanted no phone records that indicated
that I knew someone who worked at the grocery store.

I started to get concerned that the police were going to find the copy of
the contract between Mr. Brown and me.  I kept thinking for days that at
some point the police were going to show up at my door or at work and ask
questions.  That never happened.  All I can think is that Mr. Brown
shredded the document.  He had also returned my stuff, so there was no way
of tracing me that way either.  Now, I didn't regret having asked Mr. Brown
for my things.

As with all news, within a few days, people were on to the next big drama
of life and the story of Mr. Brown and the famed twelve men faded from the
memory of the kind citizenry of our city.  What I learned from the
experience was invaluable regarding turning myself over to being a slave
again.  I learned that being a slave is being at the mercy of every part of
an owner and the consequences of that can be dire.  I vowed that if I
became a slave again, I was going to do due diligence and not completely
think with my cunt and dick.

Several weeks passed.  I decided it was finally time to call my parents and
hopefully arrange a meeting.  I had some days off coming up and asked the
catering company not to call; that I needed some rest, which I did after
working 12-hour days most every day since my escape.  Mom answered the
phone and when I said hello she started crying and handed the phone to my
Dad.

"Hello son.  Where have you been?"  Dad said.

"Dad, it is a long story.  I was hoping that I could come to dinner some
evening.  What's going on with Mom?"

"She just upset.  You have been gone a long time.  She thought you had died
or something.  I knew that wasn't true, but she was inconsolable."  Dad
explained.

"Can I come to dinner either tomorrow or Friday?  Those are my only days
off this week and for the foreseeable future."

"Why don't you come on Friday, son?  Call me when you get off the bus from
downtown and I'll come over and get you.  How about around 6:30 PM?"

"Ok, Dad.  I'll time my arrival for about that time.  Bye, Dad.  Give my
love to Mom."

"Bye, son."

Now this was a new aspect of being a slave that had not occurred to me.
What happens when a slave is removed from society and then resurfaces for
whatever reason?  How does the family react?  Is it better not to ever
contact them?  I would have to see how this dinner went.  My current take
was that if I entered into another contract that took me away, then
returned to a free life again, I would no longer contact my parents.  The
torture of not knowing is probably better on them than the torture of
coming in and out of their lives.

I bought some nice clothes Friday morning.  I wanted to look presentable.
I also wanted a looser shirt over a t-shirt so that my enlarged nipples and
the rings did not show through.  I didn't care about that in my everyday
life wearing skin-tight t-shirts strolling the streets as I lived in a very
progressive, live and let live neighborhood.  I loved exposing my breasts
to men as they walked by.  At work, I wore a chef's jacket, which was not
flattering to my svelte body.

Dad pulled up and I got in the car.  He gave me a big hug before we pulled
away from the curb.  "Dad, I'm concerned about Mom.  Is she going to cry
all through dinner?"

"No, son.  I have spent a considerable amount of time talking her through
this.  I asked that you briefly explain with as little detail as possible
where you have been and then we will have a nice meal.  I will drive you
back to the city afterwards."

"Ok."

The scene was still not easy.  Mom cried the minute I walked in the door
giving me a big hug.  I really didn't know what to say, so nothing was best
and just let her be.  We sat down in the living room for a few minutes to
get the elephant-in-the-room out of the way.  I simply explained that I had
been in a relationship with a man who became possessive.  He wouldn't let
me contact anyone.  I finished the discussion quickly with `I left him.'
That was the end of that and we went on to have a lovely meal.  Mom seemed
to lighten up and, although the evening was strained, we all made the best
of it.  She loved the fact that I was working as a sous chef and prep cook.
She had been very upset that I didn't go to college so I'm sure she was
happy I had found a career.  I didn't explain how I got my training.

We said our goodbyes.  Dad and I got in the car.  "Son, do you mind if we
don't go directly back to your place?  I would like to go someplace and
chat a bit."

"Ok, Dad.  Where?"

"I know a little place."

We drove all the way back into my neighborhood.  I thought, `Why does he
know a place around here; my suburban straight Dad?'

Dad pulled the car into the parking lot of a gay bar.  I couldn't believe
it.  This was a quiet little bar for older gentleman where you actually
could have a conversation because the music wasn't very loud.  Most of the
patrons couldn't hear well, so the owner understood that noise was an
issue.  We took a corner booth and he ordered drinks for both of us; yet I
corrected him and told him that I only wanted a coke.

"Dad, why are we in a gay bar"

"Well, son.  I have some explaining to do.  Gee, this is hard.  I don't
exactly know where to start."  Dad paused for a minute.  "Son, your mother
and I have not had sex since you were conceived."

Now that's an opening line!  "Dad, I'm not sure that I want to hear all
this."

"Listen, son.  This is important to give you back story so you understand
what I am doing.  Your mother and I love each other very much; however, we
are estranged now, particularly since you were gone.  We had an incredible
sex life prior to her getting pregnant with you."

Man, this was uncomfortable, but I figured after all I had put them
through, the least I could do was listen.

Dad continued and didn't stop until it was all out.  "As you know, we were
married well over a year before she got pregnant.  We fucked almost daily
in hopes of having a child.  We wanted lots of children.  This had been
both of our dreams.  Yet, the moment she got pregnant, she did not like the
feeling of pregnancy.  As you grew inside her, it got worse.  She had a
terrible time; was sick constantly.  I was very surprised that you even
went to term.  I thought about halfway through the ordeal she would
miscarriage.  You must have been one stubborn fucker."

I had to laugh at that one.

"After you were born, we made an agreement that we were going to raise you
together and continue our marriage, but sex was no longer part of it.  She
told me that if I wanted to go out and have sex that was fine with her,
`just don't touch me' she said.

"Naturally, I was twenty-two years old.  I had to have sex.  Finally, I
went to a singles bar.  A woman picked me up, took me back to her place.
She turned out to be a dominatrix.  I essentially became her sex slave for
ten years."

My eyes widened.  My initial reaction was this must be genetic my desire to
serve.

Dad went on.  "One day she took me down to the leather bar around the
corner here.  She told me that I was going home with this leatherman and
that I was going to be his new slave.  When I objected, she slapped me so
hard in front of everyone at the bar that I fell to the floor.  I knew I
had done wrong and I went to her feet and kissed her thanking her for the
new opportunity.  I never saw her again.

"I had never had sex with a man.  Yet, it was no different.  I was a slave,
pure and simple.  The gender of the top meant nothing other than I learned
how to suck dick."

Jesus, this was getting too weird.  I wanted to stop him, yet the
fascination was getting the best of me.

"From this master, I lost my ego.  I became completely passive.  I learned
that my true place in life is to serve a real human being, which I am not.
I am only lowly slave, bordering on becoming an `it'."

Now, I knew what an `it' was.  I couldn't imagine my Dad becoming on `it'.
He still seemed so normal to me, except this conversation was indicating
that he knew more about being a slave than I did.

"Son.  Two weeks from today I am retiring from the firm with twenty years'
service.  Your mother and I paid off the house last year with the money
that was set aside for you to go to college.  I am leaving your mother next
month but not in the traditional way.  She does not know I am leaving her,
even though I am sure she has thought of leaving me.  My Master has
arranged for me to be sold at a slave auction.  There is going to be a
pretend kidnapping, which I will be fully aware of and be in the correct
spot for the nap.  No one will be the wiser and I will go on with the life
that I know is right for me."

Now I had to ask a question, "Slave auction?"

"Yes, I am selling myself to the highest bidder.  I am now to the stage
mentally where I no longer care about the situation in which I end up.
This is what I mean that I have lost my ego."

"Dad, are you aware that the situation that I was in was that of slavery?"
I asked.

"Son, I suspected as such; however, I wasn't sure.  I knew that whatever
relationship you were in it was one of control over you.  This is why I
have been so calm while you have been gone.  Attempting to still your
mother without the benefit of explaining why I am so ok with you being
missing was very difficult.  She used to scream at me about my lack of
caring.  I did and do care; I just knew that you were doing what you needed
to do, just as I am doing what I need to do."

Now, if there ever was a discussion where the term "TMI – Too Much
Information" was appropriate, this was it.  Except that Dad didn't stop.
He had to say a couple of more things.

"Jim, I want you to come to the slave auction.  My master is arranging for
you to be allowed in.  I want you to watch.  I want you to see me taken
away.  I think it would be good for you to see.  I am sorry to say, though,
this is also an exhibitionist thing for me.  I want you to see your Dad
naked and exposed."

"Dad, I don't know.  If I don't know what has happened to you, wouldn't it
be better when I have to comfort Mom."  I asked.

"Yes, it would; however, I want you to be there for a lot of reasons.  I
want you to see what slavery can really be about; not just some fantasy.  I
want to be able to say goodbye to you in the best way I know how; on a
stage, naked, chained and sold off as a commodity.  Most of all I want you
to have the experience.  Besides, I don't think you will have to do a lot
of comforting of your mother."

I just had not realized how much their relationship had deteriorated.  I
must have been so self-absorbed with my own coming-of-age that I failed to
notice the signs.  Then again, every family is normal from the inside.
Many times it takes leaving to understand things were not as they seemed.

Dad furthered with hopefully his last TMI request.  "Son, will you fuck
me?"

"Oh, Jesus Dad.  Fuck you?  Oh God.  No.  I won't."  I started to get mad;
although I'm not totally sure why.  We weren't talking about anything that
I hadn't thought of in my life except it was my Dad.  "Haven't you said
enough?"  I yelled.

Dad was very calm.  "Remember, Jim, we put up with a lot over the last year
with you being gone.  Our lives have irrevocably changed from your
disappearance.  This is only a request.  As a future slave, I have no
rights other than to ask.  You can say no."

I asked while lowering my voice indicating I was no longer upset, "Why do
you want me to fuck you?  I am a bottom.  I have never fucked anyone, let
alone the idea of fucking my father.  I don't know if I could even stay
hard."

I could see that Dad had gone to that place that a true slave does before
answering.  His face was so subserviant as if my Dad had left the table and
an "lesser" was sitting there.  My Dad really had a slave mentality.  He
had a better slave mentality than me.  His response was one that I couldn't
argue.  "Jim, by me getting fucked by my bottom son, this will show that I
am only an object to be used by anyone.  This would be the culmination of
eighteen years of servitude, even more than being sold off next month.
Once you put your dick inside my cunt, I will know beyond a doubt that I am
only an object and the last few weeks of my free life is only about taking
the responsible steps necessary to symbolically..."  He paused before
saying, "die".

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