Date: Sun, 27 Nov 2016 20:18:44 +0000 (UTC)
From: Hank M <redbeardedsf (at) yahoo.com>
Subject: INDENTURED STEPSON, chapter 2

INDENTURED STEPSON, Chapter 2
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.)

In Chapter 1, Lucas is indentured. In Chapter 2, Slave Luke is trained by
his stepfamily in humiliation and sexual service, with the enthusiastic
participation of many of Lucas's former friends, classmates, and neighbors.



# # #



CHAPTER 2: SLAVE LUKE'S SUMMER

Once Mr. Strong left me with Cameron, the teenager's excitement bubbled
over. He dug up a pair of my boxer shorts and had me put them on. He pulled
me into his bed (the bed that used to be mine in the bedroom that used to
be mine) and into an embrace. But then he pushed me away and just looked me
over. He took my hand and put it on the outline of his dick in his own
boxers. "Play with it, Luke. Gimme a hand job, the way a good buddy would
do it at a sleepover."

I rubbed the fabric up and down along his boner and wanted to scream, "I'm
not your good buddy. We're not any kind of buddies. And if your father
hadn't enslaved me, I would never go near your dick." But as a slaveboy I
had to stay silent.

The teenager reached his hand into my boxers and started rubbing my dick up
and down. "We can pretend like we're just two school buddies sleeping over
and horny together."

"Yes, sir," I mumbled trying to divorce my mind from my body.

"No, no, Luke. While we're playing like this you should call me
Cam. Pretend we're just two buddies." I was in no mood for pretending, and
no mood for being playful. But Cameron was one of my masters and I had to
play along with any game he wanted.

The two of us laid side by side on the bed. My hand was down inside his
boxers, stroking his cock. His hand was down inside my boxers, stroking my
cock. Both of us started to work up a rhythm. Cameron's heavy breathing was
giving him away. I knew he was close to shooting off. He grabbed my wrist
to stop my moving hand and then I felt his cream spew all over my hand and
the inside of his boxers.

After that, he lost interest in playing with my dick. He lost interest in
continuing the game where we were two buddies at a sleepover. He ordered me
to lick up all the spunk from my hand, then from his patch of dark pubes
and from his stomach. I was once again treated like his slaveboy. I was
pushed to the floor to sleep beside the bed. My ankle was chained to the
footboard. I looked up at the teenage boy, curled up under blankets that
used to be mine. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.

The next morning I was dragged down to the slave bathing room and attached
to the spreader bars once again so my body was spread out in an X shape. I
was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep (I wasn't used to sleeping on a hard
wooden floor) and confused about what would happen.

Shawn approached me with an odd-looking device. He pressed it against my
flesh under my right armpit and I felt a sharp sensation, as if I had been
stung by a bee. "That's your global positioning chip, boy." I froze when I
heard those words. Now I really was a slave, and it would be very difficult
for me to try to run away.

When I came into the room I had noticed a fire burning inside the metal
stove. I thought it was nice that they were warming up the chilly room. But
then I saw Shawn fiddling with something in the flames. Cameron in his
youthful eagerness called out, "Lemme do it. I can do it."

"Maybe on the next slaveboy," Shawn said. I watched from the corner of my
eye as the big slavecop pulled a brand with the letter S out of the
fire. It was glowing white hot. Shawn brought the sizzling brand in my
direction.

I was begging and screaming, "Please, not that... No, I'll be good... I'll
be your slaveboy. I'll do whatever you want. I'll...." Before I could go
further the burning hot brand was pressed against the flesh on my left
buttcheek. I felt the pain running through every nerve ending in my body. I
opened my mouth but it was too painful for me to even scream. Then I just
broke down sobbing.

"Make the slaveboy comfortable," Shawn told his younger brother as he left
the room.

Cameron touched my shriveled cock and shook his head. "Such a shame you're
already circumcised, Luke. It would have been fun to cut off your
foreskin."

The younger boy did his best to ease my body down. He ran cold water over
my burned ass, but that only made the pain more intense. Then I was laid
face down on a cot in the slave quarters, shackled to the small bed by both
hands and both legs. I was left to lie there and think about everything I'd
been through. I knew that short-term indentures did not get branded with
hot metal. I wondered what Mr. Strong had planned for me.

The next two weeks went pretty much the same way. Sunday morning was a
model for all subsequent Sundays. Mr. Strong settled back in an armchair
with a cup of coffee and the Sunday paper. I was on my knees in front of
his chair, leisurely licking and sucking at his thick hairy cock. He had no
immediate interest in shooting his load. He merely wanted the pleasure of
feeling my mouth working on his tool. My jaw was aching after hours of
this. When Cameron called his father for something, the man grabbed my
collar and pushed me backwards until he was ramming his cock hard into my
throat. He shot off then in less than a minute, wiped his dripping cock on
my hair, and walked away, leaving me on the floor.

Shawn never had time to fool around with me. When the older son used me it
was always a matter of sticking his dick into me and getting it over with
as fast as possible. Cameron, on the other hand, liked to play with
me. Aside from his role-play game where we were two school buddies having a
sleepover, he had another one where we were two boys who were dating (in
some imaginary society where things like that happened between free boys).

Then about two weeks into my enslavement, Shawn prepared me and placed me
into a cage. It was about the size you'd use for a large dog. To get into
the cage, my body was doubled over. He tossed me into the trunk of his car
and drove. This was the first time since my enslavement that I was being
taken away from the house. Nobody ever tells slaveboys where they're going
or what's going on. Until that night, I'd never thought about how unnerving
that was for a slaveboy.

I was brought into the slave cop headquarters through the back
entrance. Now that I was a slaveboy I tensed up and felt the hair on the
back of my neck rising just being in this building. Still in the cage, I
was carried into a room where about a dozen young slave cops were gathered,
all in their tight black uniforms. An older man, who was also dressed in a
black slave cop uniform and stood in front of the room, thanked Shawn for
bringing along "a model for the class to use."

Shawn released me from the cage and gave me some of my old clothes to put
on. I looked around suspiciously, figuring this was some kind of setup. The
older instructor held an electric prod to my butt and I spasmed on the
floor. Then the man lifted me by my slave collar, choking me a bit as he
did so. "I know you're new to this, boy," he spit in my face. "But when you
get an order you do not take a pause to think about it. You just follow
that order."

"Sir, yes, sir," I snapped as I pulled on my old baggy t-shirt, then pushed
down my slavejock and pulled up a pair of boxers in their place. I stumbled
into a pair of my own jeans. It felt so odd. I'd just spent two weeks
without having pants on. I saw that my older stepbrother had even provided
socks and old sneakers for me to wear. Once I was fully dressed, I assumed
slave rest position in front of the roomful of trainee slave cops.

"Thanks to Mr. Strong, we have a model we can use for our demonstration."
The instructor turned to Shawn and said, "We will do our best not to damage
your property. He looks like a very fine hunk of slaveflesh." Then the man
turned to me and said, "You will be playing the role of a free boy who's
just gotten the news that you're enslaved."

I blinked at him and just said, "Sir?"

He smacked my face and laughed, "We have to keep things simple for the
slaveboy brain, don't we?" The class laughed along with him. He looked
right into my eyes as he added, "Pretend you are the free boy that you
were... how long ago was he a free boy?"

Shawn jumped in to say, "Two weeks, sir."

The instructor smacked his lips and said, "Mmmmmm, two weeks! You rarely
see slave flesh fresher than that."

Two of the students came to the front of the room and stood beside me. One
began reading articles of indenture, just as Shawn had read them to me on
the day I returned home from school. When he got to the end he ordered me,
"You have lost all rights as a citizen. You have lost rights to wear free
boy clothing. Remove all articles of clothing, slaveboy."

I began to peel up the t-shirt, but the instructor shouted, "No! No! No!
Don't you get it, you stupid slave? You're playing the part of a free
boy. You are going to refuse to take off your clothes. These trainee slave
cops have to learn different ways of dealing with free boys who resist
indenture."

The next time I received the order to strip, I pulled away and shouted, "No
way!" One trainee cop grabbed me around the middle, his arms were shoved
under my underarms and my feet were lifted off the floor. The other trainee
cop ripped my t-shirt and pushed down my jeans. He then toyed with my cock
through my boxer shorts, while bantering with his partner. "The kid is
already getting a boner. Maybe this isn't a straight boy after all? Maybe
we won't need to use any force to get him to take our dicks?"

I was dressed again and the next two trainee cops took over. This time one
of them bent me over and held me, while the other one paddled my butt. I
cried out for mercy and was told that I had to promise to be a good
slaveboy. They hurt me and I was scared of further pain, so I dutifully
stripped down for them.

The instructor had a dissatisfied expression on his face. He spoke to no
one in particular as he announced, "Next time we must get a boy who'll put
up more of a fight."

I knew I couldn't speak out. If I had, I would have told the man that I
wasn't such a "stupid slaveboy" as to prolong a pointless punishment.

The instructor got even more frustrated when the next pair of trainees
threatened me with an electric prod. I was ready to surrender to them
before the prod even touched my skin. In a frustrated voice, the man then
declared the lesson complete for the evening. But none of these men left
the room. Now that the class was over, it was apparently time for them to
party.

I knelt on the floor in just my slavejock, as one after another of my
stepbrother's slavecop classmates used my mouth. Some were gentle. One just
placed half his cock onto my tongue and then masturbated himself till he
spewed into the back of my throat. But others were rough. One slammed all
the way in and didn't pull back to let me breathe until he had shot his
thick load down my throat. When a tall blond in a black uniform asked Shawn
if any of them could "use the slaveboy's sweet ass"? My older stepbrother
said his father insisted on being stingy with my butt. "We don't want him
all stretched out when it comes to the re-sale market."

For an instant I was grateful that I wouldn't have to get buttfucked by a
dozen uniformed men that night. But then Shawn's words sank in. He was
talking about his father's plans to sell me. That didn't sound like a
short-term indenture just to guarantee a mortgage. That sounded like my
stepfather was turning me into a permanently enslaved asset.

Shawn brought me back home and delivered me to Cameron's room. The younger
teen was solicitous of me. He clearly didn't like Shawn sharing me with his
slave cop classmates. In bed that night, Cameron decided to be very
romantic with me. We kissed and caressed. He shot his load by laying on top
of me and rubbing against my body.

# # #

A few weeks later, I was at the back of the house mowing the large expanse
of lawn that surrounded the swimming pool. Once again, my stepfamily
decided to dress me in my old white briefs that were too tight. As I moved
behind the lawnmower, I felt the top of my buttcrack revealed, but when I
tugged up on the fabric I felt the bottom of my cheeks exposed to the air.

Then from behind me I heard, "Lucas? Did you lose a bet or something, old
buddy?" I turned and saw Peyton. He was one year behind me at school and he
had never been a buddy of mine. The previous year I had been a senior while
he was a junior. I'd been the captain of the wrestling and baseball
teams. And I held a school record in swimming. Everyone agreed that Peyton
was a good athlete, but he wasn't nearly the athlete I had been.

Before I could say anything to my former schoolmate, Cameron got out of the
swimming pool and approached. "Please don't disturb my slaveboy while he's
working."

"Slaveboy? For real?" Peyton called out, clapping his hands together like
he was celebrating. "Fuck, that's too sweet to be true."

Cameron was dressed in just a small swimsuit. Peyton was out for a run in
sweatpants and a t-shirt. The two shook hands and spoke. I could only hear
bits and pieces because of the noise of the lawnmower I was pushing. I
heard Cameron say, "stepbrother," then later on I heard him say, "Yes, of
course he does. What kind of slave owners do you think we are?" I noticed
that Peyton adjusted the lump in the front of his sweatpants at that point.

Peyton called out to me and said, "I got a text from your buddies... I
mean, your former buddies... from their vacation rental on that
island. They left without you when they didn't get a reply to their
messages. But by now they were worried that you never replied to any of
their texts or calls."

Then the teen jock turned to Cameron and added in, "I wasn't invited along
to the vacation spot with them because only seniors went on the trip and I
was a lowly junior last year."

"But you'll be a senior next year?" Cameron said excitedly.

Peyton explained, "Since I live right down the block the guys finally
decided to text me and ask me to check on Lucas." He then started
chuckling. "What do you suppose I should tell them?"

"Tell them when they get back to town, they're all invited to a party right
here. And tell them the host will provide a tender fresh slaveboy to take
care of all their cocks." When I heard that last part, I gasped but
continued mowing the lawn.

Cameron sent me upstairs to my old bedroom to look for a pair of swim
trunks Peyton could wear. I pulled out an old pair of speedos. They were
bright yellow and had been tight on me two years earlier. When I gave them
to Peyton, he complained about how small they were. Cameron helpfully
suggested that Peyton take me into the pool house so I could help him
dress.

Peyton pulled me by the collar and Cameron followed us into the pool
house. I had to take slave display position for Peyton to examine my
body. He spent a long time just slapping and feeling my ass cheeks. Then he
ordered me to undress him and to take proper care of his clothes. Since he
was wearing a sweaty t-shirt and sweatpants that last instruction seemed
absurd, but I folded each piece carefully. Still that wasn't good enough
for Peyton, who wanted any excuse to slap me around.

Peyton stood in just his jockstrap with his hands on his hips. Cameron
chuckled and said, "I just like to see my slaveboy in action." He was
making an excuse for standing there and watching Peyton get undressed. But
Peyton didn't mind anyway. He was the guy who always liked to walk around
exposed in the locker room, showing off his impressively thick cock.

After I had pulled down Peyton's jockstrap, he kept his hands on his hips
and said, "Y'know how it is, when your cock and balls are released from a
tight confinement, you feel like you need to pull your sweaty balls away
from your moist thighs. You can do that for me, slaveboy."

My fingers were manipulating Peyton's balls. It was hard to miss the way
his thick penis was starting to stand up at an angle. I had often seen
Peyton's tool on display in the locker room, but I'd never seen it
erect. When it grew fully hard, I realized that his cock hadn't gained any
length when it went stiff. It was a good size for sure. But I suppose guys
who had admired Peyton for his size assumed that it got even bigger when
Peyton boned up. That was not the case.

Peyton grinned over at Cameron and said, "You know how you said at the
party, this slaveboy would...."

"Go on and use my slaveboy's mouth, Peyton. I hope you and I will be
buddies when school starts up."

"You bet we will, dude," Peyton said as he shoved the full length of his
boner down my throat. He grabbed my ears and was quickly pistoning in and
out. It was good that I had learned a lot about taking cock down my throat
because Peyton was not giving me time to get used to it. As Peyton
continued face fucking me, he laughed, "But if you want me to be your
lifelong blood brother, gimme a shot at this sweet slaveboy ass."

I lost the rhythm of sucking that cock as my brain reeled. Here was a guy
who'd played on teams with me for the past three years. When he had started
as a freshmen, I was nice to him and we were buddies. But within a year the
two of us always seemed to be competing for the same honors, the same
positions on teams -- and I always won. Now that I'd been turned into a
slaveboy, he was getting his revenge using my throat. But it seems he
really wanted my ass. I wondered how long Peyton had been thinking about
fucking my ass.

Cameron came up behind me and was rubbing his erection up and down along my
buttcrack. "My dad doesn't want us to loan out his ass too much. Don't
wanna bring down the re-sale value."

Peyton stopped with his cock all the way into my throat, his pubes up my
nose, his balls resting on my chin. His voice grew serious when he said,
"Re-sale? You're gonna sell him?"

"No... ummmm, well, we don't know if we'll sell him. But just in case we
decide to, we want the maximum value."

"Damn!" Peyton exclaimed, his cock still deep in my throat but not
moving. For an instant I thought Peyton was showing sympathy toward me. But
then he said, "My dad promised to give me money for my own slaveboy to take
away to college with me. Do you think you could hold off selling him till I
get the money?"

As Peyton was speaking, Cameron shoved his cock into my ass. The two teens
were fucking me, one on each end. They were thrusting in together and
pulling out together. Suddenly I felt Peyton's body tense up and he stopped
moving. "Hello, sir. I didn't see you there. Your son was generously
allowing me to use your slaveboy."

"Dad," Cameron piped up, even as his cock kept sliding in and out of my
butthole. "Peyton here is a neighbor of ours and he went to school with
Luke."

Even with Peyton's thick cock in my throat, I saw Mr. Strong's legs next to
the teen athlete. "Nice to meet you, Peyton," the man said. "Since this lad
is so recently enslaved, I should thank you for contributing to his
training." I heard Peyton laugh nervously. Then Mr. Strong said, "I'll just
wait over here behind you, sport. That looks so nice I'll wait my turn."

As I continued to suck Peyton's cock, I saw Mr. Strong wearing just a pair
of running shorts. He was seated behind the high school boy and playing
with his cock. He was looking directly at Peyton's exposed ass. I could
only imagine what Peyton must have looked like from behind, his buttcheeks
clenching together as he shoved forward, and those same cheeks relaxing and
pulling apart when he withdrew.

"Gee, your dad is really cool," Peyton said to Cameron. As the teen jock
shoved deep in my throat and began shooting his load, I swallowed as fast
as I could. I wondered how Peyton would feel about this "cool dad" if he
knew that old guy was perving on his ass.

A few minutes later I was helping our teen visitor to get into the tight
yellow speedos. I'd worn them when I was younger than Peyton was now. It
was tough pulling them up over his ass cheeks. His thick dick was sticking
partway over the waistband. He tried to laugh it off, saying, "Well, I'm
just among buddies here, so what does it matter? Well, buddies plus one
slaveboy."

Mr. Strong had already peeled down his shorts and was stroking his cock
before Peyton and Cameron left the pool house. But instead of putting his
cock in my mouth, the man started quizzing me about Peyton. What was his
family situation? Was his divorced father in his life at all? What kind of
money did his family have? How smart was Peyton in school? And what about
the boy's mother?

When he was through quizzing me, Mr. Strong grabbed my ears ready to give
my face a hard, quick fuck. Even as he was ramming in and out of my throat,
he grunted, "Fuck, I'd sure love to be the one who breaks in Peyton's
pretty little ass." Then he shot a thick, gooey load for me to swallow.

# # #

Naturally enough, my stepdad kept up our family's elite membership in the
very best country club. He and his boys would dress in their most expensive
clothes. And I would be on a leash tagging behind them, wearing either a
slavejock or a pair of my free boy underpants.

The boys I'd grown up with were all at the club. Of course, none of them
addressed me since I was now a slave. But most touched my body, rubbed my
chest, patted my ass -- these were guys I'd had sleepovers with and played
baseball with. But they knew proper decorum meant that a slave was a slave,
no exceptions. "If you don't treat every single slaveboy fully as a
slaveboy, you topple the entire free enterprise system."

My former buddies in the crowd were more interested in getting to know
Cameron, my recently-acquired stepbrother and master. Cameron was the one
holding the leash that was attached to my collar. Carl, my best buddy from
school, came up and introduced himself to Cameron, then chatted as if I
wasn't even there. Then Carl reached around and squeezed my left butt
cheek. With his other hand he squeezed my right nipple. "I've always wanted
to do this to him, man," my former friend said to my young master.

Cameron was having the time of his life. I knelt on the ground beside
Cameron's chair. I tried to be still. I wasn't permitted to move, so I
couldn't react to the taunts I was hearing. I recognized some of the
voices. Then I heard the voice of Coach Taylor, the athletic director from
my old high school. "Hold on, everybody. I know the boy is a slaveboy and
I'll treat him like a slaveboy. But, c'mon, as I understand it the kid is
sacrificing himself for the sake of his family, for the sake of his
mother's healthcare."

There was silence. Then some woman started clapping her hands. Everyone
around that woman "shushed" her. It just wouldn't do in proper society to
show that sort of respect to a slaveboy. As the day wore on, Cameron grew
bored with me. Or rather, he had already impressed all the cool older kids
at the club -- he had shown up for his first visit to the country club with
the star high school jock enslaved, stripped and on a leash.

Cameron led me into the locker room and handed me over to the two slaves
who oversaw the space. All adult men had their own private lockers, but
teens and boys used an open area with rows of lockers. I knew these two
locker room slaveboys well, though I'd never asked their names. The shorter
one had given me a few blow jobs when I visited the previous summer. Now
they were put in charge of me. I was told that they were the senior slaves,
so I had to do as they said.

The two immediately took me into the back and pushed me to my knees. I
looked up at the shorter slave and said, "Hey, don't you remember me?
Wasn't I always nice to you?"

He laughed and shoved his meaty cock into my mouth. I gagged just from the
suddenness. He grabbed my face in his hands and snarled, "Don't play me
like that, rich boy. I know they've had you sucking cocks." He held onto my
ears and started ramming his meat in and out of my throat till he shot hot
sticky liquid that I had to swallow.

Meanwhile the taller slave was rubbing his cock on my ass. He wasn't
threatening my hole in any way. He jerked off and shot his load onto my
asscheeks. The two slaves left me there as they took care of the men and
boys out in the locker room. I got up and cleaned myself off as best I
could.

The shorter locker slave led an older gentleman into the back where I was
naked. The man looked me up and down and smirked, "By jove, it is him! It's
that cute jock boy." Then this older man, along with two of his friends,
took me back to a lavish and spacious enclosed private dressing area.

"Slave display position, boy." I did as the man commanded. I had seen this
man at our country club for years, but had never been introduced. He and
his friends walked around me and touched me everywhere. The old man
actually addressed me, "Now, now, slaveboy. Your master will get the
majority cut of what I paid to the locker room to rent you for a little
while." I was a boy who had family roots here, who grew up here, but I
could now be rented by the hour. I recognized one of the men as my mother's
financial adviser. He pinched my nipples and said, "These days everything
is for sale -- even luxury items." I was then pushed to my knees and
proceeded to suck the dicks of the first two men.

The financial adviser had other plans though. He laid me on my back on a
leather table. Then he shoved down his baggy trunks to reveal his fat cock
fully stiff. The large hairy man climbed on top of me, his heavy body
making contact with my smooth slim body. He started rubbing himself up and
down against me, while kissing me wet and sloppy on the mouth. He was
grunting and groaning, his hands feeling me up. When he finally came to a
stop, he let out a howl and I felt his cum shooting all over my smooth
torso. He got up, moved toward my mouth and commanded, "Lick this spunk off
me, slaveboy." As they sent me on my way, the financial adviser joked with
his friends, "If that stepdad does decide to sell the boy, I'll be lined up
with a bid ready."

The Strongs visited the Country Club intermittently. Mr. Strong and Shawn
had business to take care of during weekdays. Cameron was eager to spend
all summer at the large swimming pool, but he couldn't drive so he was
stuck at home. That is, until Peyton offered to drive Cameron. That meant
that Peyton was always the first to get his hands on me -- and he did enjoy
handling me. On those days I was left to the devices of Cameron and
Peyton. It seemed their mission was to humiliate and embarrass me.

# # #

On those visits to the country club, I was the properly humble slave. For
Mr. Strong, punishing a slaveboy was a hobby. He was always looking for
punishments that didn't leave marks. He found that belts of any width left
red stripes, which "lessen the appeal of a slaveboy's buttcheeks." But a
wider paddle would just leave a red area; the redness would subside in less
than a day, but I'd feel the stinging another two or three days.

Then came my weekend at Mr. Wilson's house. My stepdad had promised the old
man he could borrow me when his wife went away. She was gone for a
three-day weekend, and I was delivered to the Wilson kitchen. Mr. Wilson's
slaveboy Kip was in a slavejock. "Is that what you always wear to cook?" He
shook his head and said, "Just when the missus is away. He enjoys seeing me
like this, but not with her around." For the next few hours, Kip and I were
totally domestic, taking care of all sorts of household duties, including
dusting the large library and ironing the old guy's underpants.

When Mr. Wilson brought us upstairs, he handed me a pair of my own white
briefs, and had another pair for Kip. Kip whispered to me, "He likes to
pretend he's directing us in a sex movie. Just do as he says and he won't
punish us."

Mr. Wilson really did act as a director. "In this first scene the two of
you are in your underpants sitting together on this big sofa. Each of you
starts playing with your own dick and looking over at the other one. Then I
want Kip to say that he bets his dick is bigger than Lucas's. Lucas, you're
going to ask him what he wants to bet. You'll go back and forth and then
agree that the one with the smaller dick will have to give a hand job to
the boy with the bigger dick. Remember, in this scene you're two straight
boys. You've never touched another guy's dick before."

As we played out the scene, the old man had his hand inside his robe and
was rubbing his own cock up and down, never revealing it to us. When Kip
and I stood up to measure our cocks side-by-side, Mr. Wilson moaned with
pleasure. It turned out my dick was a little bigger, so Kip had to give me
the hand job.

Our ersatz director continued the scene. "This time you'll take the lead,
Lucas. You'll coyly ask Kip if he's ever tongue kissed with a girl. You are
both innocent, young boys, so neither of you has ever kissed or felt up a
girl. Lucas, you're going to suggest that the two of you practice kissing
with each other. Kip will be reluctant, but he will give in."

So we continued playing out the scene, still dressed in our tighty whities,
French kissing and feeling each other up. That's when Mr. Wilson called us
both over to him. We turned our backs to the old man and he pulled down the
backs of our underpants. I felt his finger smearing something greasy into
my asshole. His other hand was smearing the same into Kip's hole. Then
Mr. Wilson pulled our briefs back in place and smacked our butts.

"OK, boys, time for your strip wrestling match. Whichever one of you gets
the other boy's briefs completely stripped off him, gets to fuck the other
one." While I stood there trying to digest what he'd just said, Kip grabbed
at my legs and pulled me down to the floor. Both of our tighty whities were
tangled around our legs. The slaveboy had gotten the advantage on me, but I
had been captain of the school wrestling team. I managed to pin Kip and rip
the briefs off his flailing legs. I had won.

We were ordered to fuck right there on the floor, as Mr. Wilson kept on
masturbating himself inside his robe. This was the first time I was ever
going to fuck a guy's ass. By that time I had been fucked plenty of
times. But here was a firm, shaved butt ready for me to invade. I shoved my
cock in all at once and Kip cried out in pain. For some reason, Kip's cry
made me even hotter and I started to fuck him fast and hard. I barely kept
it up for three minutes before my cream was gushing deep down into Kip's
insides.

As I shot up Kip's butt, I heard Mr. Wilson call out and saw a big wet
patch spread on the front of his bathrobe. His face was contorted, but then
a moment later he had the sweetest smile. "Ahhhhh, you boys have earned a
treat." For our treat, we had to behave like pups, jumping about on all
fours as the man tossed us tasty snacks. The snacks weren't even all that
good, but they were better than slave chow.

Mr. Wilson took me into his bed that night and snuggled with me. He asked
me all sorts of questions about my mother. Then he asked about my
stepfather and his sons. He wanted to know the details of my indenture. I
told him what I could, but I was in the dark about a lot. I did tell him
about the times I had heard my stepbrothers talk about my "resale value."
When he delved deeper about my stepfamily's explanations for enslaving me,
I cautiously expressed my concern, "They said they had to do it for
financial reasons, sir. But since then they keep on spending money on a lot
of extravagant things." He wrapped his warm arms around me and I slept
soundly in his comfortable bed that night.

The next morning, Kip was cold and standoffish to me. I asked if he was
upset that I had replaced him in his master's bed. He scowled at me and
said, "You could have been gentle and nice in fucking my ass. But, you
still think like a spoiled brat free boy. You rammed in hard and fast."

I felt bad. I knew he was right. I remembered that when I had been a free
boy I never once thought about what feelings a slave might have. Now, even
though I was a slaveboy, I hadn't bothered to think about another slave's
feelings when I rammed his ass.

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