Date: Sun, 27 Oct 2002 20:13:09 -0500 From: istari Subject: Mastering Alex 24 The following story describes the evolving relationship between and man and a thirteen-year-old boy. It is the story of a safe, loving, consensual, dominant/submissive relationship and does contain scenes of bondage, sado masochism, etc. If that sort of thing makes you uncomfortable, please stop reading. This story is utter fiction, the product perhaps of my own childhood fantasies, and nothing more. Well, here it is folks, the first part of Alex' adventure at the long-awaited party. Hope it meets everyone's expectations! Comments are welcome at istari_olias@hotmail.com Mastering Alex Chapter 24: The Life of the Party The psychology of a slave is an amazing and complicated thing. It was such a simple act, shaving off those few soft hairs above Alexander's penis, yet its impact was profound. The boy was subdued and serious for the rest of the night, doing whatever he was told with a quick nod of his head, and a focused yet faraway expression in his eyes. Alex was still not permitted to speak, and so he did everything soundlessly. Over the past few weeks I had become aware of a basic truth about my boy. The tougher I made things for him, the crueler and harder my treatment of him, the stronger he embraced it and the deeper was his submission. Things were escalating between us. We could both feel it. In bed that night, I allowed Alex ten minutes to talk about the day and how the things we'd done and said to him had made him feel. A full day of pent up emotions and frustrations and madness just spilled forth. "I messed up a lot today, didn't I?" he asked as he sat naked between my legs, my arms wrapped tenderly around his chest. "Yes, you did," I replied. "But you were punished for it each time. I will never hold things over you, Alex. You mess up, you get punished, we move on. Got it?" "Yes, sir." "Besides these were tough lessons today." "Sure were. You know, I can't stop thinking about tomorrow . . . that's going to be hard, isn't it?" "For you, yes. I plan on having a great time." He shivered and moved closer. I pushed him away gently and onto his back. Freed of his belt, his cock, once again hairless, was sticking straight up, but he would not be cumming tonight. "Spread your legs, Alex," I commanded. With a soft voice he responded. "Yes, master." "Roll over." He did with a quiet, "Yes, sir." "That's my boy." I gave him a gentle spanking, just to re-light the fire of the paddle and cane from earlier. Then I entered him roughly, leaving him moaning and gasping into his pillow. Michael woke us gently the next morning. He was already dressed in his travel outfit, jeans and a short-sleeved pullover, white runners on his feet. Collar and cuffs were in plain view, and beneath his clothes I knew he was bound and locked in chastity. He smiled at Alex and his bright blue eyes betrayed his excitement about the days ahead. Normally energetic in the mornings, Alex seemed sluggish and wary. We showered together. He met my eyes with a shy and gentle expression, then bowed his head again and pressed himself against me. I rubbed my hands over his trembling shoulders and down the center of his back. The boy's penis was hard and he was gasping softly. I knew he desperately wanted me touch him. I kissed him on the forehead and turned off the water. "Don't dry yourself. Stand there until your erection is gone, then come into the bedroom." I left Alex there in the tub, hard and horny and shivering. He appeared a few minutes later, his soft five inches swinging between his beautiful slender thighs as he walked toward me. After letting him drip dry for a few minutes, I stood the boy in front of me and put him in his gear. Michael had delivered a new butt-plug courtesy his master, a much larger and thicker one than I'd used on Alex before. It took some grunting and groaning to work it up inside him. There was no way it could ever come out on its own. His leather jock went on next and then, of course, the pod. Alex seemed to be miles away already. "Nervous?" I asked as I tightened his harness around his chest. "Yes, sir." "I am too. Hand me your cuffs." Alex placed the ankle cuffs in my hands and I slowly and lovingly buckled them in place, running my hands up and down the boy's firm hairless legs, feeling the well packed muscles in his calves. We hadn't used the padlocks in a while, but for today it seemed appropriate, and I clicked them in place. We both liked the idea that the cuffs could not come off. His wrists received the same treatment. The boy presented his collar to me next, then knelt to receive it around his neck. With one last click of a padlock it was done. "Shirt and shorts," I ordered. "Then get your shoes on. No socks." Alex dressed quickly, his hands shaking in nervous excitement. "Take your time, sweetie," I said gently. "They won't leave without us." My boy smiled and relaxed a little. When he was finished, he presented himself to me. I straightened his shirt and raised his shorts a little higher on his hips, revealing more of his sexy thirteen-year-old legs. His hair was just getting long enough to need brushing again, and so he did that with me looking on. I tossed him the gel and he quickly got it the way he liked. "Do I look alright?" he asked, examining himself in the full-length mirror. "Adorable. And very grown up." Alex beamed. What boy doesn't like to heart that particular compliment? "Really?" "Really." "Can I have a hug, before we go?" "You can always have a hug, Alex. Come here." I drew him into my arms and we embraced. In that moment it struck me just how small and slender and fragile he was. Yes, he was strong and athletic, but he was still a boy. It would be so easy to really and truly hurt him, and there would be nothing he could do about it. Alex didn't have the strength to resist. He must have sensed the dark cloud that suddenly came between us. He pulled back for a moment and stared at me. "What's wrong?" he asked in a whisper. "Nothing, Alex." I took his hands into my own. "Go get your gag, then we'll see about breakfast." Robert had a large feast prepared in the kitchen, but not for all of us. For himself and for me it was fruit and bread, juice and coffee. For Michael and Alex it was pancakes and eggs and bacon, milk and juice. "This will be the last real meal they eat for a while," our host explained as we allowed the boys to sit down with us at the table. "And as for you and I, we'll be quite stuffed before things wind down, so go light this morning." Anxious and nervous, Alex at first picked at his food, but Michael tapped him on the arm and gave him a warm smile. "Better eat all you can," he said in his soft but confident voice. "We'll need it." With the older boy's example and encouragement, Alex dug in with renewed enthusiasm, drowning his large stack of cakes with strawberry syrup and swallowing his juice in large gulps. He was the only one without a coffee cup. Robert took one from the counter and set it in front of him. "Want to drink like the grown-ups this morning, son?" he asked. Alex looked at me with a smile. He'd had a few sips of coffee before, and I often put a little in his milk for him, but this was the real thing, strong and black and filling the kitchen with its nutty aroma. With my tacit approval he flipped the cup upright and Robert filled it to the rim. We all laughed when he wrinkled his nose at the first taste and forced it down his throat. "When I think of all the other things he's had in his mouth lately . . ." My boy glared at me playfully and joined us in our laughter. It felt good. And he did finish the entire cup, respectfully declining seconds. Robert's garage was a source of wonder for Alex. Home to six of the shiniest most beautiful vehicles he'd ever laid his young eyes upon. There was a late model Jaguar, a vintage Mercedes, and several more modest but equally stylish cars all neatly parked in their bays. Our transport for this adventure however awaited us at the far end, an immaculately maintained black cargo van, likely a Dodge at some point, though it had been customized to such a degree that it had little in common with anything you'd find on the showroom floor. "Let's get the boy's inside," Robert said as he unlocked the back doors. Alex and I looked in together. Definitely not factory standard! Thick rubber matting covered the floor and walls, and there were rings and hooks and chains dangling everywhere. There was a small iron cage and a restraining chair similar to those that lived in Robert's dungeon. Both pieces were secured to the floor with heavy braces and bolts. Robert and I instantly came to an unspoken agreement, and he opened the cage door while I helped Alex climb up into the van. With my boy on his hands and knees, I worked his shorts off his slender frame, then his shirt. Only his shoes and leather remained. "Get in there, Alex," I said softly, after I'd buckled the ball-gag in place. Alex blinked once and crawled into the cage. He went in headfirst and quickly discovered there was no room inside for him to turn around, or sit or stretch. He would be on his hands and knees for the entire trip. I locked his wrist and ankle cuffs to the iron bars and Robert slowly closed the door. Alex actually jumped a little when he heard the heavy latch and the ratcheting click of the big lock. Next Michael was placed in the chair and strapped down from toe to forehead. His fingers were about the only thing he could move. He was not gagged, and Robert turned the chair so he was looking directly at my boy in the cage. "Keep an eye on Alex," Robert instructed him. "If it looks like he's in trouble, tell us right away. You may talk to him, but keep your voice down." "Yes, sir." Robert tightened the young man's straps a little more, causing Michael to moan softly under his breath. Together we then knelt down in front of Alex. The caged boy wiggled his shoulders a bit, then his hips, pressing them against the bars. I could tell by the look on his young face that Alex was zoning out again, as he often seemed to do. Robert snapped his fingers and clapped his hands. Alex focused his hazel eyes on us instantly. "You're going to have a rough ride, kid," Robert said without exaggeration. "I'll take it slow, but you're going to have a few bruises by the time we get there. Keep your arms locked or else you'll knock your head against the bars. Don't want you blacking out now, do we?" Alex shook his head and blinked his eyes twice. I worked my right hand between the bars and gently caressed his cheek. I gave him a little slap. "Mike will be watching you, don't worry. Just do what Robert says." The boy straightened his shoulders and locked his elbows, then put his head down. Robert and I stepped out and closed the rear doors. Moments later we were off. There was a dark curtain that separated the cabin from the cargo area. The silence from behind the curtain was strange. I knew my wonderful boy was back there, and I had to fight the urge to draw back the dark blue fabric and check on him. "Let him be for a while," Robert said as we left the driveway. "Mike will tell us if anything goes wrong." I turned back in my chair and watched the miles go by. For obvious reasons, Robert avoided the interstates and other heavily trafficked roads, instead winding us up and down and around the countryside lanes, always taking us generally north. Occasionally he would hit an unavoidable bump or pothole, which was immediately followed by a loud yelp or moan of protest from young Alex as he was smashed against the bars of the cage. "You're not hitting those on purpose, are you?" I asked wickedly. "Now why would I ever do a thing like that?" he replied with a knowing smirk upon his bearded lips. We'd been on the road for about ninety minutes, when Robert pulled off onto a wooded drive. I'd thought his own private estate was a realm of opulence, but the elaborate mansion that loomed before us was simply breathtaking. "I'm in the wrong business, Rob," I said with a laugh. "No need to feel that way, Steven. You and Alex are my guests, and you'll both fit in nicely, I'm sure. Remember, if you're comfortable, Alex will be comfortable." I took that to heart as I surveyed the large number of vehicles already parked along the edges of the circular driveway. There were custom models like Robert's, expensive luxury cars of all makes, sport vehicles, vans and pick-ups, some extraordinary, some deceptively plain. Clearly the party had already begun. "I'm never the first to arrive, nor the last to leave," Robert explained. "I confess I do have some standing among these people, and a timely entrance is important. Good turnout today." I could hear the soft distant sounds of a string quartet playing as we opened the rear doors of the van. Alex was leaning to one side of the cage and breathing heavily. The last hundred yards down the driveway had been particularly rough on him. Robert handed me the key and I worked the heavy lock open. The door swung on its hinges with a soft well-oiled creak. "Don't move, boy," I said. I released his ankle and wrist cuffs, then reached into the cage and put my hands firmly around his hips. Slowly I backed Alex out of the cage. He did have the beginnings of a few bruises on his shoulders, but nothing serious. They'd just give him a little extra character. Having worn the ball-gag for so long, a trail of drool and spittle ran from his mouth and down onto the floor of the van. Alex looked at me with embarrassed eyes, but I knew he couldn't help it. I patted him on the head and Robert handed me a cloth before proceeding to release Michael. I wiped my boy down gently, and dried the outside of the gag. "Stretch," I ordered as the boy stood on two feet for the first time in nearly two hours. Alex dutifully twisted and turned his narrow hips, and raised his arms above his head. He did a few toe touches, which made him look quite adorable with his cute little ass in the air. I gave that perfect target a few playful smacks. "Save a bit for later, Steven," Robert laughed as he helped Michael out of the van. The older slave went through a similar but far more efficient and practiced round of stretches, his lean eighteen-year-old body already glistening with sweat. When the young man had finished, he bent over to remove his shoes. I gave Alex a firm tug on his harness. "Help Michael get those off." Robert nodded his approval, and young Alex quickly kneeled before his senior slave and untied the well-worn tennis shoes, removing them with great care, taking a moment to caress Michael's bare feet. The boy was reluctant to finish his task, but he did, then got up and placed the shoes neatly in the van. With a silent command from his master, Michael reciprocated. He was exceedingly gentle, and looked up at Alex with a warm smile the entire time as he removed the boy's runners. Alex soon had that faraway look in his eyes again and a soft sigh escaped his throat. I curled a finger around the nearest ring in his collar and pulled him sharply back to reality. The boy blushed and gave me a contrite and embarrassed look. "Stay focused, Alex," I warned him. "And stay close." He nodded his head. I kissed him on the cheek and we were ready. No lead for his collar. We'd discussed that before falling asleep in each other's arms the previous night. It was important to him that he prove he didn't need one. It was also a bit of a risk, but Alex is no fool, and he knows how to keep his eyes and ears open. We followed Robert and Michael to the front door. Alex was at my right side, a half-step behind. I could feel his hand brushing against mine, and I could hear his anxious breathing. Robert rang the bell, and the large door was quickly opened by a handsome teenaged boy with dark hair and deep brown eyes. The lad appeared to be a few years younger than Michael was, perhaps sixteen. Tall and slender, he wore a formal bow tie around his neck and a black coat with tails. And nothing else. His soft cock, thick and impressive, dangled between firm sinewy adolescent legs. His bare feet were large and gave him an adorably awkward look. The youth was well tanned, and he had a single golden ring in each ear. It was obvious from his expression that he recognized Robert immediately. "Good afternoon, Thomas. You're looking well. A few inches taller, and longer I see." The attractive teenager blushed. "Thank you, sir." "Where is your master?" Robert asked, looking the boy up and down with his piercing gray eyes. "In the garden, sir. He has been expecting you." Thomas stepped to one side and gestured us into the house. His brown eyes were locked on Alex as the thirteen- year-old followed close behind me. It was the first of many stares young Alex would be receiving as the afternoon wore on. The garden was reached through a door at the opposite end of the large well-appointed Georgian hall. We stepped out into a world of manicured terraces, fine sculpture, flowing fountains and soft music. Alex squeezed my hand gently, and together we shook our heads in amazement. One might have thought we'd stepped back into a more genteel past, but the presence of scores of young men and boys in leather, chains, or nothing at all quickly brought us back to our curious new reality. Robert had told me weeks earlier that Alex, while the newest, would not be the youngest boy here, and he was correct. While youngsters were and are certainly rare in our little circle, a leisurely glance revealed numerous boys smaller and younger than my Alex, and at least one who appeared to be no more than eight or nine years old. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a quick flash of dark red, and there of course was Sebastian, standing at firm attention beside his master. Samuel Collins was engaged in some polite debate with another gentleman in a rather expensive suit. The doctor himself was dressed casually, preferring to allow his young nephew the honor of attracting all the attention. And that he did, remarkably well. Sebastian was covered in a tight reddish-hued leather bodysuit that nearly matched the color of his hair. His hands were encased in leather mittens and his slender arms bound tightly to his sides by straps built into the suit. The boy's feet were bare, as they always seemed to be. He was not gagged, but it was clear from his rigid posture that he was under strict orders not to speak or respond in any way to anything said or done to him. That was of course until he saw Alex. Then his intelligent young eyes lit up and he risked a little smile in our direction. Samuel caught him instantly, and after offering us a friendly gesture, he promptly gave the boy a hard smack on his little round rump to help him regain his focus. "Come on, Alex," I said as I gave my boy a little swat of his own. We hurried along to catch up to Robert, and soon found ourselves under a large pavilion where masters and slaves were mingling informally, and where food, and drink and music were found in abundance. Alex continued to be the object of long stares as we followed Robert through the lively crowd. Some stares were wicked and lustful, some hopelessly smitten by the thirteen-year-old's youthful yet masculine beauty, and most were simply appreciative of a young boy bravely entering a grown-up world for the first time and doing his very best to prove he belonged. I knew Alex could feel their admiration, and I could sense him standing a little taller as he walked close behind me. A well-dressed middle-aged gentleman rose from a comfortable couch to greet us and took Robert's hand first. It was immediately clear that their association had been a long and fruitful one. "So good to see you, Robert," he said in a thick but cultured voice. "Sorry you had to miss my last little soiree. It just wasn't the same without you, or Michael." The young slave gave one of his trademark bows. Robert then introduced me to our host, using only his first name, as was the custom. Wim. Unusual and distinctive, and fitting for one who lived in such conspicuous luxury. "No introduction necessary," he said and presented his hand to me. "Thomas and I are both fans of your writing." I nodded in sincere gratitude, unaware I was known in such wealthy and influential circles. "Robert tells me we should be expecting a novel from you shortly." "If I can ever manage to finish it," I said, glancing at my little brother. "I've been rather distracted lately." Wim's eyes fell on Alexander, and a warm smile crossed his face. He looked the bound, gagged, and belted boy up and down. Alex blushed, but stood straight and motionless by my side. "No wonder you can't concentrate. This must be Alex." "He keeps my life interesting, that's certain," I replied, caressing the boy gently between his shoulders, and pushing him forward slightly so Wim could get a better look. "Stand," I said firmly. Young Alex was in position instantly, his slim muscular legs spread wide, his hands clasped behind his head, his hazel eyes forward meeting those of our host. "Very nice," Wim said after a soft whistle of admiration. He extended his hands, the tips of his fingers hovering just inches from the boy's smooth flesh. "May I?" I could hear Alex take a sharp breath. "By all means," I replied. Alex shuddered as the stranger's hands lightly and gently worked over his slender frame, dancing playfully over his bare skin. Wim pulled Alex yet closer and ran his fingers up and down the thirteen-year-old's back, pausing often to squeeze the boy's firm behind. Alex still had his hands behind his head. Wim found the end of the boy's butt- plug, held tightly in place by the thin leather strap. He gave it a quick tug. "Got a nice little ass on you, boy," I heard him say. "I'll bet you just love getting it fucked." Alex whimpered into his gag and his body stiffened as Wim moved his exploring hands over the boy's thighs and up between his legs, jiggling the metal pod that encased his genitals. "Does he wear this often?" our wealthy host asked. "Most of the time," I replied. Alex nodded his head and sighed quietly. "And how old is he?" "He turned thirteen less than a month ago." Wim continued his examination. "Spread your legs a little farther, boy," he said. Remembering the rules, Alex craned his head back and looked at me. His eyes were soft and pleading. In answer I reached out and smacked him twice on the ass. "Do as you are told, Lexi." The boy spread his feet as far as he could without losing his balance. Wim again ran his hands over the kid's thighs, now taut and straining, before returning his attentions to the chastity belt and the seed pod. He let it rest in his palm. "Hmm. There's already some weight inside," he said appreciatively, then looked over Alex' shoulder at me. "He must be hung like a horse." "Well, at least a pony," I replied with a smile. Alex let out a soft giggle. I figured he needed something to lighten the mood, even if just for a moment. Wim patted him on the thigh and sent him back to me. Alex immediately resumed his place at my side, and I felt the back of his hand softly touching mine. Once. Twice. Three times. Quietly I took it and he squeezed tightly. Alex let out a long-held breath. I turned to look at him and saw my boy's eyes were fixed on the ground, his chin nearly down upon his chest. My Alex was scared. I reached over and gently lifted his chin. "Keep your head up," I said softly, but sternly. Then I took his hand again. "You have a fine boy, Steven," our host continued. "I do hope we'll be seeing more of him later today. Make yourself at home. We have organized a little game of soccer for the youngsters. We'll be starting this afternoon on the south lawn. Alex is welcome to play. With legs like those . . . " Wim trailed off into a tender smile. "And of course we often choose a little one for our evening hunt. Perhaps Alex would like to be the quarry today." Beside me, Alex jumped and shivered. "Ah, he's already trembling," Wim observed good- naturedly. "He'll make fine prey." The idea of a naked Alex being chased through the woods was rather appealing, and I promised Wim I'd consider it. We paid our respects then followed Robert and Michael a little further along through the terraced gardens, gaining introductions to many of his most valued associates, clients, and friends. There were, to my amazement, a few familiar faces among those gathered, people I'd seen on the news, people in power. At first, I confess, Alex and I felt like poor cousins. And yet, everyone seemed to go out of their way to mingle in our direction and make us feel welcome. Some masters offered their hand to Alex, while others patted him warmly on the behind. I'd removed his gag, but he was still not permitted to speak. Several people tried their best to catch him off guard, but not once did my clever boy ever open his mouth. I was so proud of him. I actually hugged him, right there in front of everyone. My eyes caught a few more boys I hadn't noticed before. None were so elaborately clad as Sebastian was in his neck- to-ankle leather bodysuit, and one teenaged lad was crawling naked on his hands and knees behind his master, leashed to the man's wrist. Finally I turned to Robert with the obvious question. "How many boys are there? Real ones, I mean." Robert's eyes danced and he flashed a wicked grin. "Enjoying the sights, are you? Well, I will tell you. At the moment there are eight we know of, including young Alex, that the law would consider minors, but several of them are among the most experienced slaves here. And many of the young men you see first came to gatherings like this as children. You are not the only one here with an attraction to boys, but you will learn that our chosen lifestyle often transcends age." I nodded that I understood, and squeezed Alexander's hand a little more tightly as we walked. "We do take great care with the young ones," Robert continued. His expression quickly darkened, and spoke to me softly so Alex wouldn't hear his equally dark words. "The ones we know about at least. People always assume when a boy disappears and never returns that he's been murdered. I suspect, and have seen some evidence that suggests otherwise. I have my theories, but proving them would endanger far too many lives." I shivered at the mere thought of what Robert was implying. He quickly changed the subject. "Enough of this. There is much for you to see, and much for Alex to learn. Michael and I have our own engagements to attend to. I trust, young man," he said, addressing Alex directly, "that you will keep yourself and your master out of trouble?" Alex smiled and nodded his head, and with that Rob and Mike walked off leaving us alone in a crowd of strangers. His last words to me were delivered with a wink and a wicked smile. "You'll find some activities in the carriage house to keep the boy occupied." And indeed we did, once we were pointed in the right direction. The carriage house, an old brick structure that I'm sure normally housed our host's exceptional collection of vehicles, had a different kind of machinery in it today. Crosses and frames and stocks and even a frightful medieval rack filled the many bays. Ten slaves were strapped and bound to them in every imaginable position, with their masters all looking on as they were methodically tortured by yet others. Whimpers and cries filled the air. It was a strangely musical and arousing sound. Another handful of slaves lined the back wall, chained to one another and to large rings in the floor. Unoccupied masters mingled and talked freely, awaiting the next round of activities. Alex and I hovered near the door, captivated by what we were witnessing, and apparently unnoticed, for the moment. A thirteen-year-old slave does draw attention to himself though, without even trying. Before long a kind-faced and elderly master approached us and held out his hand to me. The grip was surprisingly firm and virile. "Master Steven . . . and Alex, correct?" he asked softly. His voice betrayed years and years of smoking. I nodded with rather dubious eyes. "No need for suspicion. It is to our advantage to stay informed of new members, and particularly when a boy joins our little family. How are you today, Alex?" I hadn't even learned this man's name yet, but somehow I trusted him, and, given his age, it also seemed only appropriate that Alex answer him directly, and politely. I gave my boy a gentle nudge and he promptly offered one of his flourishing bows. It had the same effect it always did on Robert, mainly a delighted smile and a soft chuckle from its recipient. "I'm fine, sir," Alex then said, standing up again. "Thank you for asking." "You are surprised that I would? A slave's feelings are important too, aren't they?" "I guess so," my sweet boy replied quietly. "You guess? A slave must not guess, boy." "I mean, yes, sir," Alex stammered, quickly and deftly correcting himself. "They are important." "I'm pleased you think so." The old gentleman, for that's what he was, smiled warmly at us. "I am Bartholomew . . . but you, young man," he pointed a playful finger at Alex, "will only ever call me sir. Clear?" Alex stood up straight as an arrow. "Yes, sir!" he said strongly, then returned his elder's smile. "He's adorable," Bartholomew said, patting the five- foot-tall boy on the top of his head. He turned his soft experienced eyes to me. "I've been training slaves since before either of you were born, Steven, but this boy is special. I know them when I see them." I couldn't find any argument with that. "Care to put the little colt through his paces?" he asked. Alex instinctively moved closer to me. Gazing down at him, there was that look of fear and desire in his eyes. I did not hesitate. "Absolutely." "Do you have a preference?" Bartholomew asked as we scanned the room together, observing older and more experienced slaves enduring unbelievable tortures. Finally I left it up to Alex to make the decision. Together we walked up and down the line of increasingly harsh devices. The rack in particular held the boy's fascination. A fit and muscular young man in his early twenties was it's current occupant. He was moaning softly into a heavy leather gag, and rolling his head from side to side. His back was arched, his lean hairless torso heaving with gaping breaths. The anguished look in his eyes forced Alex closer to me. The stretch in the young man's joints was a sight to behold. One more turn I'm sure and tendons would begin to snap. Alex gave me that `no way' look all thirteen-year-old's have mastered. Something in his expression told me that one day soon he'd do it, even ask for it, but not today. We moved on, my hands now gently resting on his shoulders. At our next stop, an older teen, perhaps Michael's age, was hanging with from his wrists and ankles. They were bound together behind him. Enormous leaden weights hung from his balls, and yet more from his nipples, pulling his most sensitive parts downward with ruthless and relentless force. The youth's head hung down in exhaustion so we could not see his face, but we could both hear his quiet sobs. Up and down this row of suffering and torment, things seemed to have come to a stop for a moment, but everything was set up so that the slaves remained on display the entire time. "Guess everyone's gonna be watching me, huh?" Alex asked softly as we stood before a wooden bondage frame, it's current occupant suspended by his ankles. It was clear from his quiet moans and ample tears that the young man was being allowed to rest before he was taken down and replaced by another. "That's the idea, Lexi." The boy fidgeted nervously, but his eyes were carefully digesting everything around him. I knew this was a difficult moment for him. Up until now, everything we'd done had been in the familiar confines of home, or in the safe environment provided by Robert's dungeon. Alex had always been among those who loved him. Warmth and compassion surrounded him, even as he suffered. This was very different. Cold and detached, the calculated infliction of pain for pain's sake, as total strangers looked on. I did not push him, but I did not let him quit and walk away. If this was the life he wanted, he would need to learn the darker truths about it. Finally he stood up as tall as he could and stepped a bit closer the frame nearest to us, the one with the young man still hanging by his ankles. "This one," Alex said with boyish conviction. "Just like this. Upside-down and everything. Whip me good!" Bartholomew smiled widely and laid a friendly hand on my boy's shoulder. "So eager. I like that. We'll see how you feel about things when I'm through with you." His voice was suddenly chilling, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of a fierce and stern-faced master. Alex eyed me with giddy terror. Robert had told me we would meet true sadists here, masters of their craft who would teach Alex about the depths of pain. Something in that kindly old man's expression told me my young charge was in for a very rough time. "Would you remove his belt, please?" Bartholomew asked, as Alex trembled between us. Pulling the keys from my pocket, I opened the padlocks and slowly removed the metal pod and leather jock, leaving them close by. His butt-plug remained. Alex sighed deeply as his boyhood was freed from its unforgiving constraints. Driven by fear and anticipation, and the large audience that was quietly assembling to watch him, the boy got hard instantly. "Ah, the little man's excited. How sweet," Bartholomew said. "I'd like to keep him that way for a while, if you don't mind." "By all means." A thick leather strap was quickly and roughly tied around the boy's cock and balls, then looped again and again around the base of his throbbing young erection. Alex actually groaned when the knot was pulled taut. Already his penis was a dark red, and slowly turning purple. Tied off and separated, his balls were also taking on a colorful hue. "Turn around, Alex," Bartholomew said. I noticed he almost always used the boy's name. A sign of respect he'd later tell me. Alex did what he was told and presented his backside to the elderly master. His wrist cuffs were quickly locked together and a series of well-used leather straps were cinched tightly around his arms until his elbows were nearly touching. I could see the strain in his shoulders, as well as the painful grimace upon his sweet innocent face. "Now sit down. Ask your master for help, if you need it." With his arms bound and useless behind him, he did need help. I got him onto the floor, and he sat silent and shaking with his beautiful legs stretched in front of him. Bartholomew knotted thick heavy ropes through the rings in the boy's ankle cuffs then began to circle them around, distributing the pressure evenly. Alex was staring up with dancing eyes at the pulley system to which the ropes were already attached. His cock was so hard I thought it would burst. After making a final check of the ropes for safety, Bartholomew knelt down beside Alex and gestured me to do the same. Once again his eyes and voice were those of a kindly grandfather, but I know they would not remain so for long. "Listen to me very carefully, Alex," he said. "And keep your eyes forward. I want you to answer some questions for me. I will not repeat myself." "Yes, sir." "When was the last time you came?" "Yesterday morning, sir." "Do you need your master's permission to cum?" Alex looked at me for an instant. "Yes, sir, I do." He received a gentle smack for disobeying. "Eyes forward." "Sorry, sir." Bartholomew continued. "Have you been whipped before?" "Yes, sir. Often. By my master." "But never by someone who doesn't love you." Alex shuddered. His answer was honest, and painful. "Yes, sir," he said with a trembling voice. "That's happened to me too. When I was very little." Our newest friend seemed to melt when he heard that, but he gathered his emotions quickly. "This will be very hard for you. Do you have a safeword?" The boy nodded and took a deep breath. "Yes, sir." "Tell me." "Butterfly, sir." A gentle hand caressed Alex' shoulder. "It suits you. Did you choose it yourself?" "Yes, sir, I did." "Use it if you have to. There is no shame. I am going to hurt you very badly, you know that." "I do, sir." My sweet brave boy closed his eyes for a moment. "May I ask a question, sir?" "Of course, Alex." "Where will my master be, when it's happening?" "Where would you like him to be?" "Close, sir." "I understand," Bartholomew said tenderly. "You need his touch, don't you?" Alex nodded. It was beyond words. "Let's get you into position." All the boy could manage was a soft whimper of agreement. Immediately Bartholomew began to methodically pull on the ropes until there was a noticeable tug against Alex' feet. He stopped and double-checked everything, the ropes, the frame, at last making sure the boy's leather cuffs were snug and would not be digging in to his skin too harshly. "Hold his shoulders, lift him gently," Bartholomew told me as he continued to take the slack out of the ropes. Alex' legs were already being raised off the floor. My boy sighed when he felt my hands, and he put his head back so he could look at me as I bent over to support him. He gave me a little smile to let me know it was all right. The pulleys began to squeak as the ropes took more and more of the boy's diminutive weight. Soon I could feel Alex leaving the ground. His cute little rear end was in the air now. I was holding him tightly and lifting him slowly as the pulleys took him up. He wiggled a bit in my gentle grip, but with his arms trussed tightly behind him, he was quite helpless. And then, after several slow minutes of starts and stops, Bartholomew gave one last hard pull, which straightened the boy's lean body and took his breath away. "Let him go," he said. I did. And Alex swung free by his ankles.