Date: Sun, 23 Oct 2016 01:51:53 +0000 (UTC)
From: Master Redbeard <redbeardedsf (at) yahoo.com>
Subject: Indentured Stepson, Chapter 1

INDENTURED STEPSON, Chapter 1
By Master Redbeard
r=e=d=b=e=a=r=d=e=d=s=f= at y;a;h;o;o; dot com

This is gay slave fiction set in a society where it's legal to enslave
young men for sexual purposes. If you're underage to read such a story, go
away. If you live in a jurisdiction where you cannot legally read such a
story, go away and try to move to another jurisdiction. If sex between
males or anything else in this story offends you, what are you doing on
this website to begin with? And if you cannot differentiate between fantasy
and reality, go away now and get some help.

THE STORY: Lucas has just graduated from high school and come home to find
his mother has been sent to rehab and his stepfather and two stepbrothers
have enslaved him. He is outraged, but cannot protest as he is stripped and
trained in service by his stepfamily. (Believe it or not, I was five pages
into this story before I realized I was writing "Cinderella" as gay slave
fiction.) What secrets were Lucas's new family members hiding? What would
that mean for Lucas's fate?

PLEASE DONATE & SUPPORT NIFTY.ORG. I write these stories because I know
Nifty exists and therefore there's a place these stories can be shared.



# # #



CHAPTER ONE: LUCAS RETURNS HOME

I was happy for my mom when she found a man to marry. She had been alone
since my dad left when I was very little. I'd heard dad went to South
America. At least he left us well-off financially, with a big house and a
healthy yearly income. Well, actually most of the money had originally been
my mother's, and she had inherited the house. But my father had invested
wisely and took care of all needed business arrangements, the sort of
things my mother couldn't be bothered with.

I knew my mom had problems with alcohol and pills, but I'd been taught it
was not something ever to be discussed. I hoped that having a nice man in
her life would help her be happier and get over her drinking problem. I
attended a boarding school and was in my senior year at the time. It was
close enough for me to visit home on weekends, but I was so involved with
school sports and activities, that I rarely came home.

When I met Mr. Strong, the new man in her life, I took an automatic dislike
to him. But everybody told me that was a natural reaction. I had been the
only male in my mother's life for so many years, and now there was someone
who would be sharing her bed and having sex with her. Of course her teenage
son would dislike any man in that position. But still this man gave me a
creepy feeling, something about the way he looked at me, the way he smiled
at me, even the way he spoke to me in a very deep, quiet voice.

I also met his two sons. His older son, Shawn, was 23, tall with a big
impressive chest and shoulders. He had just joined the force as a slave
cop, and liked wearing his form-fitting black uniform. His younger son,
Cameron, had just turned 16. I tried to be friendly to both of them,
especially Cam, who I was told would be attending my school the following
year, but the two boys seemed aloof and also gave me the creeps.

My mom told me that her new husband-to-be, Mr. Strong, was wealthy and had
a lot of business interests. But I was suspicious of that. We had a big
house with two slaves. There was plenty of room for Mr. Strong and his sons
to move in, but I couldn't get a clear answer as to where the Strong family
had been living before that.

I tried to put all that out of my mind and participated in all the
celebrations leading up to the wedding. The wedding itself was a quiet
affair in early May. Since my mom and Mr. Strong were gone for their
honeymoon, I saw no need to come back home on weekends. Since it was the
final month of my Senior year in high school, I was busy with all sorts of
activities anyway.

Of course my mom phoned me when the two of them were back from their
honeymoon and told me all about the trip they took. Then she put her new
husband on the phone. He asked her to check on something downstairs while
he talked to me. Then in a hushed voice he spoke to me about my mother's
drinking problem. I stammered at his questions and tried to explain to him
that this was something I'd never discussed before. I don't know whether my
mother had ever talked seriously with anyone about her problem, beyond a
few jokes from her friends about her being a lush.

In a deep and commanding voice, he said, "She needs help. You know that,
don't you?"

My voice was quiet when I replied, "I... I'm s-sorry I didn't...." Before
our conversation was over, he had me begging him to find the kind of
rehabilitation center and doctors she needed. I agreed with him that he had
to do whatever was necessary to get my mother the help she needed, no
matter how much it cost. I agreed that he knew best and that I wouldn't
give him any problems about finances.

I was shaken up after the phone call. I felt guilty that for all those
years I knew my mother needed help, but I had never done anything about
it. I always considered her drinking a family secret that was
embarrassing. Then again, I had just turned 18 at the time. Maybe it was
too much that my new stepdad was asking me to have taken on such a grown up
responsibility.

I kept calling regularly. My stepfather would always answer and then give
the phone to my mother, warning her not to stay on too long and exhaust
herself. Then a few days before I was set to return home for summer break,
my mother phoned me. She sounded like she was trying hard to be upbeat. She
told me that her husband, Mr. Strong, had noticed that she was tired all
the time, and she was going to "a nice place in the country where I can
relax and calm down." I told her how happy I was that she was going
someplace like that, and tried to act just as upbeat as she was being.

Then my stepfather took the phone from her and said, "Don't go making any
plans for the summer, Lucas, we are going to need you around the house."

I said, "We can talk about this in a few days when I'm back. I wanted to
take some time to go along with my buddies to...."

My mother's voice echoed in the background, "Please, son, do as your new
dad asks. He has to take charge in my absence, and I know you'll be a good
boy for him."

Stepdad piped up and loudly agreed, "I'm sure you'll be a good boy for your
new dad." After he hung up, I felt a funny tingling from the way he'd said
that. Do you know how sometimes you feel nervous about something and your
dick will chub up just a little bit? That's what happened to me right
then. I had to reach down and readjust my dick. Soon after I went to the
dorm bathroom and found a quiet stall where I could jerk off in private.

That Friday I had a car service bring me back to my home. When I got there
I was surprised neither of our slaves came out to help with my bags. I
carried both bags to the front door and rang the bell. When I rang a second
time I saw my younger stepbrother stick his head out of an upstairs window
and say, "Oh, yes. We were expecting you. But we're all around back. Bring
your bags with you to the back entrance of the house."

I thought to myself that he sounded kind of rude, especially speaking to
someone who was now his older brother. But I lugged my heavy bags and went
around the side of the house to get to the back door, the slave entrance
that opened onto the slave quarters to the right and the kitchen to the
left. I went toward the kitchen and called out the names of our two slaves,
surprised when neither one of them replied.

Then my older stepbrother appeared at the kitchen entrance, dressed in his
slave cop uniform, and said, "My dad's checking out the rooms down
here. Follow me." I left my bags in the kitchen and walked behind Shawn
into the slave quarters.  My stepfather was in the slave bathing room,
where slaves were showered and groomed. My mother preferred our slaveboys
to have their dicks covered, but they were still expected to keep their
bodies totally shaved smooth.

My stepdad didn't greet me in any way, just looked around the space as I
was led in. My patience gave out and I snapped at the older man, "Where are
our slaveboys?"

He looked me over for a long moment before he said, "We had to sell them."
While I was still processing that, he went on, "You are the one who agreed
with me that we had to do whatever was necessary in order to get your
mother the care she needed. Well, the care she needed was much more
expensive than I anticipated." He took a meaningful pause and then
concluded, "Changes had to happen around here. We all must do what we must
do, Luke."

I cleared my throat and said, "My name is Lucas. I hate being called Luke."
But then I apologized for my harsh tone. He patted me on the shoulder and
said, "I can be very forgiving of a boy who knows when he's done wrong; a
boy who knows he needs to be corrected." Then he ruffled my hair with his
fingers, almost like I was a little boy.

"This is a large house with grounds... with no slaves to take care of
everything...."

"Provision has been made," the older man said. At this point he was sitting
in a lounge chair which was placed so a master could view his slaves being
prepared, on one side of him was his older son, Shawn, dressed in his black
slave cop uniform. On his other side was his younger son, Cameron, with a
smug expression on his face.

Stepdad took out his cell phone and auto-dialed a number. He put it on
speaker phone as he spoke to the doctor at the rehab center. The doctor
said he would put my mother on the phone, but warned us not to talk about
anything that might upset her. He re-emphasized by saying, "If her son has
cancer or the house has burned down... she is not equipped to hear about
anything that may have gone wrong or any disagreements between people. So
keep the talk light and happy."

My mother's voice sounded weak over the phone. But she said how much she
liked the place, how beautiful the gardens were, and how she was able to
sit out by a duck pond most of the afternoon without a care in the world. I
told her how happy I was that she was at such a nice place. Then she asked
how I was getting along with my new stepbrothers and I assured her they had
welcomed me home and we were already buddies. (I certainly wasn't going to
tell her how rude they'd been to me.) My stepbrothers then got on the call
and sounded very cheerful, calling her "Mom" -- there was something creepy
about it.

The doctor got back on the phone and told us that he would only let mom
talk to us once a month. Part of his treatment was isolating her from the
outside world. He warned that she would go through some difficult times
kicking her alcohol habit, but that she had the best care possible.

After my stepdad hung up the phone, his older son, Shawn, pulled a document
out of his inside jacket pocket and started reading to me, "Lucas Alphonse
Peterson, your rights as a free citizen have been rescinded for a period of
five years commencing immediately...." Everyone knew those were the first
words in a declaration of indenture.

My eyes were wide as I yelled at my stepfather, "What the fuck? You're
making me a slaveboy in my own house?"

The document fell from Shawn's hand and, in a flash, he touched an electric
prod to my chest. I convulsed and gasped for air as I fell to the floor.
My stepdad's voice was calm as he said, "Now, now, Luke, you know better
than that. You know how a slaveboy addresses free men."

I wanted to curse him out but Shawn was standing over me holding the
prod. I wanted to repeat to him that my name was Lucas and I didn't like
being called Luke, but I knew that slave prod would keep me from saying
anything at all. I slowly rose to my feet looking at all three of these
people surrounding me, seeing how unfriendly their faces were now.

"Slave rest position," Shawn ordered. "You've had slaves all your life. You
certainly know what slave rest position is."

I clasped my hands together behind my back, looked down at the floor, and
spread my legs apart. Shawn kicked my feet a little wider apart and
grumbled, "Shoulder width, slaveboy."

I gulped and cautiously looked at my stepdad as I said, "Please,
sir... M-m-master, I request permission to speak."

"Permission denied," he said in a monotone, following it with, "Now strip,
boy. Let's have a look at the merchandise."

Merchandise? This was my house, the house I'd grown up in with my
mother. Now this man and his sons were acting like they were in charge and
turning me into a slaveboy. I never imagined other men would one day look
at me like merchandise. I was a well-raised, educated young man from a very
good family. A boy like me wasn't supposed to get enslaved.

I looked from one man to the other. Shawn was still holding his prod in a
threatening manner. Cameron had a paddle that he was playing with as he
grinned at me. Mr. Strong sat between them looking impassive. I slowly
peeled my t-shirt over my head, letting it fall to the ground.

"Thoughtless slaveboys! Pick that up and fold it neatly." I did as ordered,
folding the ragged t-shirt as best I could and placing it on a nearby
chair. I pulled off my sneakers and socks, folding the socks into the
sneakers and putting them under the same chair. I opened my belt but then
paused. Something inside me was hoping this was all a joke and we would
have a good laugh. But from the looks on their faces, I knew this was no
joke.

I peeled down my jeans and tried to fold them neatly. If it seems like this
was all challenging to me, please understand that I had never before had to
fold any of my own clothes. We had two slaveboys at home who took care of
my things. And at school there were slaves on staff, plus some of the boys
had brought along their own slaveboys. So there was always a slave to wash,
fold and put away my clothes.

For a long moment I stood in my patterned boxer shorts. Cameron quickly
moved around behind me and swatted my ass with his paddle really hard. I
automatically reached and grabbed the paddle out of his hand, shouting,
"Hey, what do you think you're doing?"

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I had made a serious
mistake. Mr. Strong leaped out of his chair and helped Shawn drag me to the
far end of the slave bathing room. My wrists were pulled high above my head
and spread as wide as they could go. Each wrist was cuffed to either end of
a very long metal bar. Then the bar was raised slightly so that my feet
were off the ground. My legs were spread equally wide and attached to a
spreader bar so that my body formed the shape of an X.

Once I was helpless in that position, Cameron's hand went into the fly of
my boxer shorts, fondling my dick and making it grow.  I tried to stop
myself from going erect, but he was touching me in a way that woke up my
sleeping cock and it was lengthening rapidly. "I wanna see if he's got
anything worthwhile down here," the snotty teen said.

His older brother was more direct. He ripped my boxers off completely so I
was hanging up there naked. Then he grabbed each of my ass cheeks in his
hands and squeezed. "He sure got something worthwhile back here."

Mr. Strong snapped, "There'll be time for that later, boys. For now we have
to teach our new slaveboy proper behavior." Then he stood right in front of
me, looking directly into my eyes, and said in a very quiet voice, "You are
a very lucky slaveboy. You grabbed the paddle out of my son's hand. That is
a serious offense. But if you had actually grabbed my son's hand, that
would have required a much more severe punishment." I shuddered as he
continued, "A slave who physically attacks his master in any way is
castrated and then has the skin on his back flayed with a bullwhip."

A whimper came out of my throat. Mr. Strong started playing with my right
nipple, he was twisting it and pulling on it. "We don't want to see
anything bad happen to you, Luke. I told you that your mother's care was
much more expensive than I had expected. We've all had to make sacrifices,
boy. And I needed collateral on the new mortgage I had to take on the
house. Making you an indenture was the only logical way."

My brain was trying to process all of this, but he went on, "Besides, this
house needs at least one slave to take care of things, clean the bathrooms,
care for the gardens, wash our clothes...."

"And take care of us," Shawn added, as he grabbed the front of his tight
black uniform pants and emphasized his erection trapped in the cloth.

My mouth was so dry. I managed to gasp out, "P-please, sir... Please,
Master, I'm... I'm not g-gay, sir."

The three of them looked at each other and laughed together as Mr. Strong
responded, "That makes it more fun for us."

He handed the paddle back to his younger son. "Since you were the one he
offended by grabbing the paddle, you should administer the punishment."

"How many, dad?" Cameron asked eagerly.

Mr. Strong looked at his older son and said, "Well, it's only a paddle."

"Twenty should hurt him enough," Shawn said with authority. "After all,
this is a tender free boy ass you're smacking. Once we toughen him up,
he'll be able to take 50 easy enough."

The smacks started coming hard and fast. I was bare naked in my own home,
strapped to spreader bars that left me helpless, and a teenager two years
younger than me was smacking my ass with a wooden paddle. Mr. Strong told
Cameron to pause. "Savor it, boy. Give the slave a chance to anticipate how
and where the next blow will come."

Cameron started rubbing the paddle tenderly on my already-bruised flesh. I
squirmed when the wooden surface rubbed across the welts that had already
started to develop on my white ass cheeks. I then got three smacks on my
left ass cheek in quick succession, then a long pause of being teased, and
then four smacks on my right ass cheek. The boy's father was right, teasing
my body in that way made the punishment feel more intense. All this time
Mr. Strong and Shawn were whispering together and looking at me. The two
laughed together and each of them grabbed the tent in the front of his
pants.

When Cameron came around in front of me, he already had his hard-on
sticking out of the fly of his pants. He was rubbing it as he looked me
over. Mr. Strong admonished his son, "It's not time for that yet, boy. The
slave needs to be properly prepared."

The teenager put his dick back in his pants. At that point it seemed odd to
me that he had been masturbating his exposed cock right in front of his
father and brother. But then again I had grown up without a father and
without any brothers. Then a thought occurred to me: As bad as it was being
turned into a slaveboy, what if I was a slaveboy serving a family of
homosexuals? All three of them had their hands on my body, feeling my flesh
everywhere. Mr. Strong looked at his younger son and said, "Don't worry,
Cameron, you'll have your chance at this fine hunk of slave flesh."

Attached to the spreader bars as I was, it should have been easy for them
to shave me, but it became complicated. It seems this was the first time
Cameron was shaving a slaveboy. His dad was teaching him. I was already
disoriented and upset about what was happening. Having a novice shave my
balls was adding to my anxiety. The feeling of the shaving cream, combined
with my own nervousness, gave me a full erection sticking up more than 90
degrees from my body. When Cameron went around behind me, I felt his hands
spreading my butt cheeks. He said to his father, "I don't think he needs
any shaving back here, dad." The older man came around and shoved a finger
up my butthole, then said, "But he does need cleaning out, son."

They released me from my bondage and I collapsed on the floor, wondering
whether I'd ever be able to use my legs again. I was lifted up by Shawn and
dragged over to an enormous wash basin, then bent over the edge. I saw
Cameron had a nozzle in his hand and was moving it toward my hole. In spite
of the potential punishments, I was just about to protest, when Shawn
stopped his younger brother and said, "You have to grease him first, little
bro. You don't want to create any rips and tears back there. That would
make for a lousy fuck."

In my head I was roaring a response: "You fucker, I'm straight. I was
brought up with wealth and position. How dare you think you can treat me
like a common slaveboy? How dare you think you can stick your dicks in my
ass." Even as I thought that, my buttcheeks clenched together and I
shuddered at the thought. I then faced the humiliation of two enemas
administered by a boy younger than me in front of two other horny men who
seemed to enjoy the show. My thoughts scattered when I was pushed under a
stream of cold water and told to rinse myself. I suppose I had always known
there was no hot water in the slave quarters, but it had never been an
issue for me before.

I was expected to air dry myself, but I was shivering as I did it. Then I
was ordered to drag a heavy punishment horse from the corner to the center
of the room. I was pushed down over the horse, my hands were strapped to
the front of the clunky piece of furniture, and my legs were spread wide
and strapped to the back. My chest was resting on the padded leather top of
the horse.

Mr. Strong's big hand was massaging and squeezing my cheeks as he asked,
"Ever taken dick up your ass before, slaveboy?"

"No, never. I told you I'm not a homo..." He smacked my ass hard and I
quickly added, "Sir."

His thick finger was working something greasy into my hole. "Ever sucked a
dick, boy?"

I almost retched with disgust at the very thought of taking a dick in my
mouth. I shook my head vigorously and said, "No... sir." Then I responded
with a deep grunt as I felt a second finger invade my virgin ass. There was
a mirror in front of me so I could see what was going on behind me. Both of
Mr. Strong's sons were taking off their clothes and stroking their
cocks. Mr. Strong remained dressed, but kept on squeezing the tent in the
front of his pants.

He looked to his 16-year-old son and said bluntly, "Well, you're the one
who cleaned him out with those enemas. So you should know whether he's
clean enough." At that, Cameron got down behind me and I felt his mouth on
my butt cheeks, his tongue was moving up and down in my crack. Then he used
his hands to spread my cheeks apart and shoved his tongue up into my
butthole. I gasped and made a startled squeaking sound. The teen was
munching and licking away like he was enjoying the best ice cream in the
world, but it was my asshole!

Then Cameron stood up behind me. I felt the pressure of his stiff cock
against my anus. I tried my best to squeeze my cheeks together, but he
slapped my ass hard, hitting right where the welts were from my earlier
paddling. I felt the head of his cock shove inside me and let out a loud
"Ungghhhh." Mr. Strong turned to his older son, as the two of them stood
beside me, and laughed, "If he grunts like that for the kid, what kinda
sound will he make when he gets my long fat one up his hole?"

The rest of Cameron's dick slid into me. I felt his patch of pubes against
my smooth butt cheeks. I felt his balls against the backs of my
thighs. These were feelings I never expected I would ever feel. I couldn't
help myself, "Ple-ease, y-you c-c-can't do this to...."

Shawn picked up a tawse and slapped it across my shoulders. I suddenly felt
like my shoulders were on fire. If this was a light slap, what would a real
whipping feel like with a tawse? I knew I would find out soon enough. I
whimpered, "S-sorry, sir."

The naked slave cop had the body of a marine, broad shoulders, impressive
chest, thick arms, narrow waist. If I had been attracted to men, I'd have
to admit he was one good looking dude. But all this was new to me. He took
my jaw in his hand and forced me to look up at him, as he said, "You're not
a stupid boy, right?"

I gulped. "N-no... I hope I'm not, sir."

"With a newly indentured free boy like this we usually use a mouth guard to
cover your teeth and force your mouth to stay wide open. Do you understand
me, slaveboy?"

I stammered out, "S-sir, yes sir."

"But you're smart enough to know what's going to happen to you if I feel so
much as one of your teeth touch my fat cock, boy."

A sob came out of the back of my throat as I once again said, "Sir, yes
sir."

With that he rested his fat leaking cock head on my tongue and just let it
lie there. The positive part about Shawn's teasing was that it had
distracted me from the pain in my butt. Cameron had started fucking me
slowly, but now he was going fast and hard. He would pull almost all the
way out of me, and then shove the full length all the way into me, forcing
me to grunt. I don't know if he was talking to me or to his older brother
when he said, "This is called long dicking. Dad taught it to me."

Everything that was happening seemed so twisted, but the most twisted part
was how clear it was that these two boys were used to being naked and
having sex in front of their father. I wondered for a moment whether the
two of them had sex with their father. But there wasn't much time for me to
think about that. I had Shawn's thick erection sliding in and out of my
throat. Shawn had learned his own version of long dicking and he was
treating the back of my throat like a punching bag. He would pull his cock
most of the way out of me, then slam in as hard and fast as he could. I was
certain he must be damaging something back there. I would eventually learn
the body is more resilient than we realize.

While I was learning to suck cock, the younger brother was dripping sweat
on me, slamming his cock in over and over, faster than ever. Finally he
howled and fell across my back. The older brother grabbed my face and
pressed his body against it. His thick black pubes were up my nose. I
couldn't breath. I felt like I was going to pass out.

A moment later both of the Strong boys had pulled out of me. I felt cum and
spittle dripping out of my mouth. I felt something slimy sliding down the
backs of my thighs.

Cameron was using my discarded boxer shorts to clean off his cock. He
looked at his dad and said, "OK, your turn, dad. Thanks so much for letting
me go first, sir. I never took a slaveboy cherry before."

"This boy has work to do," Mr. Strong announced, slapping my tender
ass. "I'll break him in some time later." Then he left the room as Shawn
and Cameron took their time putting their clothes back on. They whispered
about me from a distance so I couldn't hear, but I saw them smiling,
pointing at me, sometimes laughing. It was good they took that time, it
gave me time to catch my breath.

When they untied me from the horse, I was handed a pair of white briefs. I
looked at them and realized they had been my own underpants years earlier,
but I hadn't worn that kind for two full years. I held them up and said,
"Excuse me, sir. These are my old underpants. I think they'll be too
tight...."

Shawn slapped my face. "When we want a slaveboy's opinion, we will let you
know." Cameron piped in with, "And don't hold your breath till we ask your
opinion."

Shawn walked around me as I struggled to pull up the white briefs. "You
need to be reminded of your status as a slaveboy. You need to be brought
low, even embarrassed at times. We could do that by making you wear
slaveshorts... but I think you would be more embarrassed like this in front
of your chums..."

"Yeh, the boys from your school, the ones on your wrestling team, even the
kids around the neighborhood. They'll see you fully shaved and wearing a
little boy's tighty whities." Then he laughed as if it were the funniest
thing in the world.

I had wondered about something and now I knew. The Strong family had
enslaved me. I didn't know if they would keep me as a slaveboy inside this
house, or use me out in the neighborhood as well. Now I knew. Also the
references to the boys at school made me think about the school's policy of
allowing students to bring along their personal slaveboys. I blushed deeply
just thinking about it. I had just graduated from that school. I was the
senior jock everybody looked up to. Would I be going back and serving as a
demeaned servant to a bunch of 16 year olds juniors?

Dressed in just the white briefs, I was marched up to the second floor
where the bedrooms are located. I saw the next-door-neighbor's slaveboy,
Kip. I knew he wasn't much older than me. Mr. Wilson next door had just
purchased him less than two years earlier. I stopped in my tracks when I
saw him. He was dressed in a slavejock, with a pouch in front and just one
strip of cloth that ran between his butt cheeks.

Mr. Strong spoke to his sons in a casual way, "It was kind of our next door
neighbor to loan us his slaveboy for the afternoon. But Kippy has to be
home to prepare dinner for his master. So we need to get to work."

Cameron started explaining to me where the furniture was to be moved, but
his father stopped him. "Kippy knows where everything goes. Since our
slaveboy is so new, it's best for Kippy to take charge." Then he looked at
the nearly-naked slave and said, "I give you permission to smack the
slaveboy's ass or any other punishment you deem necessary to get this job
done."

"Sir, thank you, sir," the slaveboy snapped, bowing his head in his
perfectly-executed slave rest position.

When the three free men went downstairs, I looked at Kip and said, "Now I
understand what you've been going through, man."

"You understand nothing, you spoiled little brat." Then he grabbed me round
and smacked my butt three times. When he pushed me away he said, "That's
punishment for your impudence, slaveboy."

I couldn't believe it. Here was a longtime slave who had served me when I
was a free boy, and he had the nerve to smack my butt. Even more horrifying
than that, he had been given permission to smack my butt!

Before I could stew any further, Kip announced, "Your master has assigned
us work. Extraneous talking is not permitted."

I began, "Yes, but this is all so...."

"If you speak again I'll have to punish you, boy. And I'll have to inform
your master so he can punish you as he chooses."

With that, we went to work. Furniture was being moved from one room into
another. Some new more modern pieces were being moved in. And a few of my
mother's favorite pieces were being moved out. Once I figured out what we
were doing, I understood that Mr. Strong was remaking my mother's bedroom
into a bachelor hangout for himself, turning her dressing room into his
office. My old bedroom was being made over for Cameron. And Shawn would be
turning our impressive old library into his bedroom.

It all outraged me. But what could I do with the outrage? I was a slaveboy!
And even in the presence of this other neighborhood slaveboy, I could't
speak. I suppose it was good that I had all this hard manual labor to keep
me from brooding or even thinking. Just when I thought we were complete,
Kip and I had to take the discarded furniture down the steps and outside
for pickup. Just before we took that last trip down the stairs, Kip stopped
and looked at me in a meaningful way. "I'll just say: It was wrong of them
not to clean up the spunk spilling down your legs. And I understand what
it's like to be a free straight boy and have to face slavery. Believe me, I
understand." Then he returned to silence.

Once we were outside, I saw Mr. Wilson, our next door neighbor. He was
standing on his side of the property line, smoking his pipe and looking at
me in the most intense way. The white underpants I was wearing were so
small that my dick was sticking out over the waistband, and parts of my
butt crack were on display in the back. Carrying the heavy furniture
alongside Kip, there was nothing I could do to cover myself. In addition, I
was coated with a sheen of sweat and realized that my tighty whities were
also soaked through with sweat. When I glanced back at the older man I saw
that he had one hand in a pocket. I didn't dare stare much longer, but it
looked to me like he was rubbing his dick through his pants pocket.

I hadn't realized Mr. Strong had come out of the house behind us until he
smacked my head and said, "Concentrate on the work, boy." Then he turned to
the neighbor and said, "I'm so grateful you loaned us your Kippy. I will of
course return the favor anytime once we get our new slaveboy broken in."

"Boy's name is Kip, not Kippy," Mr. Wilson said, taking another puff on his
pipe. "This one you got here is a fine piece of slave flesh. I always
thought he would make a lovely slaveboy. So nice to see him like this, so
very nice." I was thoroughly creeped out hearing his words. This man had
moved into the house next door almost eight years earlier. When he said he
"always thought" I'd make a lovely slaveboy, I had to wonder: Was he
thinking that when I was a fifth grader and he would playfully tickle me?

"You mentioned your wife is going away. Perhaps you could borrow our Luke
then to help keep you company?" Oh Damn! I had been a slaveboy less than 12
hours and I was already being pimped out. I had only taken one dick in my
mouth and one up my butt so far. But now my teen body could be used by any
man my master designated.

A leash was attached to my collar and I was led back into the kitchen on
all fours. I had earned a treat for all my hard labor. There was a dog bowl
filled with a foul-smelling mixture. I sniffed at it and looked up at
Mr. Strong. "It's slave chow. It's good for you, boy, has all the nutrients
and protein you need. You'll have that... and water," he said as he plopped
down another bowl next to the first.

Since I had no utensils I tried picking up a piece of the greasy slop with
my fingers, but the man slapped my hands. He pulled my hands behind my back
and cuffed them. "A slaveboy eats with his mouth, and that's all." Then he
pushed my face down into the bowl. I chomped the disgusting mixture and
felt the filth of it all over my face. When I drank out of the water bowl,
I saw bits of the slave chow floating in the water.

The men of the house had ordered take-out food, since they had determined I
would need cooking lessons before I could be trusted to prepare their
meals. After they ate, Mr. Strong took my leash in his hand and led me up
the backstairs, the ones that went up from the kitchen to the
bedrooms. This was the stairway I was expected to use from now on.

I was brought into my mother's former bedroom, now made more masculine to
suit Mr. Strong. He uncuffed me and removed the leash from my slave
collar. I took the familiar slave kneeling position in front of him and
looked down at the floor. He caressed my face, then reached down and
twisted each of my nipples until I cried out. When he heard me make a sound
that indicated I was feeling pain, he would laugh.

Then he ordered me to undress him and to fold his clothing piece by
piece. He was a big man with a hairy body. When I removed his shirt it was
clear he had spent a lot of time in the gym developing his chest and
shoulders and arms. But he had reached an age where he also had a beer
belly sticking over his belt. I was kneeling before him and pulled down his
boxers. His cock popped up fully 90-degrees in front of him, from a thick
black bush.

His fingers were brushing side to side on my lips. "Oh, Luke, I should tell
you that I accommodated one of your mother's wishes before she went to the
rehab center. She was so pleased that I followed her wish and was willing
to adopt you. She was worried that if something happened to her, you would
be an orphan. But instead..." He held my jaw and forced me to look up at
his face as he began, "Luke..." then he broke out laughing like an idiot
before he continued, "I am your father... that's right: Luke, I am your
father." I didn't know what was so funny about that.

As he said those words he shoved his fat cock head into my mouth, forcing
my lips to stretch wide. He grabbed my ears and started pumping in and out
of my throat without pause. I was gagging and he didn't care. In fact I'm
certain he was enjoying the fact that I was struggling and choking on his
cock. It seemed to go on forever, but just as suddenly he pulled out of me
and tossed me onto his bed on my stomach.

My knees were on the floor. My chest was on top of the bed. Almost
immediately I felt the man's large hairy body pressing down on me from
behind. His hands were holding my arms in place. First I felt the thick
cock head pressing against my anus, then all of a sudden I felt the full
length of his cock deep inside my guts. I howled in pain, certain that my
hole would rip and feeling like I had a fist punching my insides. My new
master and stepdad didn't pause. He just started ramming in and out of my
ass, making me dizzy.

The big man's hands were kneading my shoulders, then my back muscles, then
reached around and squeezed my pecs. All the while he gave a running
commentary about my muscles. "Skin so smooth," he grunted into my
ear. "Muscles so firm and nicely-formed. I had a boner the first time your
mother introduced us, boy. I just knew your ass was going to be this tight
and sweet to fuck."

I tried to shut out the sound of his voice, but I couldn't. The way he was
touching me and speaking to me made me feel like an object, it made me feel
dirty, it made me feel like I was nothing but a hunk of slaveflesh.

The hairy man sweated and grunted on top of me for a long time before he
finally slammed in and I felt his thick cock pulsating deep inside
me. "Filling you up with your new daddy's sperm," he snarled in the
nastiest voice as his tongue went into my ear. Then he popped out of me and
moved my body around.

I tried to turn away when he presented his dirty cock to my mouth, but he
grabbed a tawse and started slapping my chest, cutting right across my
tender nipples. "No, please stop, sir... I'll be good." I opened my mouth
and used my tongue and lips to clean off his long slimy penis. It wasn't
actually filthy, but it smelled like my ass. I lapped at it frightened of
any more slashes on my bruised bodys.

Mr. Strong snapped a leash onto my slave collar and dragged me out of his
bedroom without even telling me where we were going. I was led into my
former bedroom, now redone to suit my younger stepbrother. I was on all
fours and I looked up at the 16-year-old, who grinned broadly at his
father.

"Son," Mr. Strong began. "You've been a good boy for your dad. Just
remember that in our society, sex between free men is frowned upon. A good
dad would tell you never to have sex with another free man or boy. At your
age you have a lot of needs, Cameron. That's why I want you to take charge
of our new slaveboy. He'll be sleeping here in your room, except for
special nights."

"Wow, dad, does that mean when school starts up I can bring the slaveboy
with me?"

Oh damn! I just graduated from that school. I had been the big sports
hero. Would I now be returning in a collar and a pair of white briefs, made
to service any cock my snotty young master selected?

(TO BE CONTINUED)

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