Hey I remembered to put an intro on it. Sorry I've forgot to for the past few chapters. Hey! How's it going? Is your new year starting off right? Did you finish the list of 2023 boy stories you wanted to read and are already making 2024's list, hehee. Well, I hope you read Bear & Cub, I worked real hard in it and am real pleased with my first Detective story. I think Counting Down is a huge hit and I believe it's picking up speed.

I'm thinking about the next story (actually, I'm always thinking about the next story) and could use some of your help. I'm thinking about writing my next story in a different genre. I'm thinking I would classify, Counting as dramatic, and Bear & Cubs as thriller/Detective, so how do you feel about stories that are wrapped around a theme like that? I can write superhero, Magik, alternate universes, space, etc. (I don't do horror, sorry for you horror fans) Email me (Foxfire3730@proton.me) and I'll take a tally then decide where to go from here.

If you do enjoy Bear & Cub, please read some of my other works on AO3 (TuxEdwards): Counting, Counting Down (the sequel to Counting), Not Capable of Love, Fire (Boys of Grizzly Valley on AO3), Go Bag (Boys of Grizzly Valley on AO3), and Jaded (on AO3). Please take a few minutes to drop me an email to let me know if Counting Down is for you: Foxfire3730@proton.me

 

If you like my stories and want to tip or donate to me, consider buying me a coffee at this link: Thank You

 

"The Universe is Made of Stories, Not of Atoms" -Muriel Rukeyser

 

Haunting Past

 

Gus

"You hungry?" I ask a yawning Ryder as he takes a seat at the table.

"I'ww have cereaw, Frosted Fwakes, pwease."

He normally does this for me, and since I've never served breakfast to him, I thought it would be nice. Going into the kitchen, I open the pantry and look at the cereal shelf. Oh shit, when did Burns start putting the cereal in plastic bins and get rid of the boxes? There are five different plastic containers that all look alike, except they have what I'm guessing are the names of the cereal written on them with a black marker. I begin to panic and think that this is a terrible idea.

"Is there something wrong?" He groggily asked from the table. My fingers slide from each container as I try to remember what frosted flakes look like. I have one out of five chances to get this right. I grab the one that has two words in the title and head back to the table.

I nervously tap the table and watch to see if I get the wrong one. He pops the top and pours out Cinnamon Crunchies into his bowl. He rubs his eye and then looks in his bowl again. His eyes shift toward me as if they can see through me. Then he smiles and says, "You know what? These sound reawwy good, too. Thanks, Cub." I release all my tension and return his smile before I go over to get the milk.

Breakfast goes by without a hitch after my mistake. Afterwards, we clean the table and put our dishes in the dishwasher. If Burns' comes home to a clean apartment, then we both get a dollar that we can put in the jar. If we get a dollar a day without missing a day for a week, then Burns said he'll double what's in the jar and take us shopping! I'm so excited to go shopping. I've never owned real stuff. Like stuff that was just mine.

I think Ryder is just as excited. I will have to admit that if we make it through the week, it will be because of him. He's always reminding me of stuff. I guess the guy who owned him was a real asshole, and if he didn't pick up after himself, he was beaten. I don't know what he went through, but I get the feeling it was really bad.

We head over to the couch, and I get comfortable on it while Ryder turns the TV on and turns it to the Disney+ channel. "Let's watch `Coco.' I wove this movie."

"We've seen this movie a hundred times; don't you want to watch an action movie or maybe a thriller?" I ask in hopes of finally watching a movie I like. His expression changes, and I can see I've hurt his feelings, so I quickly edit what I said, "...maybe after `Coco' I mean." 

He flashes me that irresistible smile and prances to the couch. He lays his head on my lap and gets comfortable. Our two naked bodies touching is all it takes to get a `rise' out of me, and to make matters worse, he is shifting his head a little, and soon my rock-hard cock is in his ear.

I blush in embarrassment and ask, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to poke you in the ear. Maybe you want a pillow or to lay on a shirt?"

"No, thank you; I wike it here," he says, shifting his head once more, so now my hard-on is free and practically on his lips.

"Ryder! We're not supposed to mess around. Burns told me it's not good for you, but you're making it real hard not to do... stuff." 

"Awe, I wike the smeww of it. Can't I way here wike this?" He asks all innocent. Damn, he's good. On the street, he could make a fortune with that look.

"Um, sure, okay, just nothing else, okay?" I ask him, really nervous.

He gives my cock a long lick, sending shivers through my body, and I let out a moan that ends with the word "Ryder!"

"Okay, okay, I won't taste you any more," he concedes with a giggle. I'm going to have to talk to Burns. I'm not sure I can control myself around Ryder. I know it sounds like childhood playground bullshit, but I think I love him, and I want to fuck the shit out of that tight, perfect bubble-butt.

The movie was just as good as it was the other hundred times we've seen it. Shortly after it was over, Burns came upstairs from his office, apartment five, downstairs. He's got today, well, half of today, off, and we're headed to The Home Depot to get some stuff we need for the apartment. Burns, in a drunk stooper, decided one night last week that we boys would be happier if we had our own room.

We tried to explain to him that we would just sleep with him anyway, but he said that when we got older, we'd need a space to call our own. Even though his original blueprint was unreadable by any of us, we're going to cut and install a door between this apartment and the motel room next door, making our apartment three out of the five motel rooms on this floor. That new room will be our bedroom/playroom/bathroom. The door will open into Burns' room.

The Home Depot is interesting. It's a huge hardware store, and I think Ryder's more amazed at the stuff in here than I was. Sure, I've seen the story before, unlike him, but I never went inside. Out of the three of us, Bear seems to be the most bored. He spends most of his time lying at Burn's feet when he stops and looks at this or that. Us boys, though, are all over the store, but never too far away from Burns. We even saw a little boy, about five years old, taking a shit on one of the toilet displays. I'm not sure what was funnier--his little cute face as he was squeezing one out or his mom running down the aisle trying to get to him before that tiny turd was pinched off in the waterless bowl. I guess when you got to poop, you got to go!

After an hour or so, we were down, and Burns had a cart full of hammers, sledges, crowbars, dusk masks, gloves, etc. We boys are pulling a flat cart with 2x4's, 2x6's, some plywood, and two small overalls, denim blue, that will fit us boys perfectly. Well, it'll be a little big for Ryder.

We're standing in line and goofing around when Ryder just freezes in place. "...yeah Burns, you should have seen it! That little boy dropped his pants and shit in the display model; ain't that right, Ryder..." I say letting my voice trail off when I see the look on his face was one of fear and dread. His eyes searched for somewhere to escape, but his body was not going to move. "Burns?" I try to warn him that something is wrong, but he already knows and is scanning the immediate area. Bear can feel the tension among all of us, and his head is on a swivel, like mine, looking for something out of place.

Then, from four cashiers away, an old teenager, maybe eighteen or nineteen, says with an Armenian accent, "Little Ryder?"

Burns positions Ryder and me behind him and warns this man, "Lenny Kevson, I never took you for the home repair type." 

"Detective Burns, that's my little brother. He belongs to me!" 

"I'm not seeing the family resemblance. I think you're mistaken. This boy is my nephew. He doesn't belong to anyone. He's not a thing!"

People begin to notice the argument that's brewing, and the cashier asks, "Hey, Burns, do you need some help?"

"Yeah, May, please take MY nephews back into the offices, would ya?" Burns says he is letting Lenny know that Ryder and I are his boys. I help Ryder move with the cashier towards the offices.

As I pass Bear, I command him, "Pass auf!" Right before she closes the door, I hear a growl and see that Lenny guy trying to follow us, and Bear cuts him off.

May sits down and pulls Ryder into her lap, telling him that everything will be okay. "What did you tell that dog?" She asks, looking as worried as Ryder.

"I told him to guard us," I respond, then I rush over to the window to watch Burns and Lenny push each other. "I can't hear anything!" I explain and rush to the door, opening it just enough to see with one eye and hear.

"...it's best that you leave Len and forget you ever saw the boy. He's under my protection now. Keep your distance," Burns says, pushing Lenny back and then going for his gun. It's pointing down at the floor on its side.

Lenny holds up his hands, smiles as if he knows something we don't, and says eerily calmly, "Alright, detective, alright. But that boy is mine, and I'll get him back." 

"Pay for your shit and get out. If you come anywhere near my boys or even the dog, I'll let the dog eat you," Burns says, watching him back up towards his register and pay his bill, then swagger out, but not before he gives Ryder a little wave through the window I was looking out of.

Burns makes sure that Lenny gets in a vehicle and leaves before he waves us out of the room. Ryder explodes out of the room, and the door slams against the wall. He runs straight and right into Burns' arms. His sobs drown out anything that might explain what just happened. I would be cheering on how cool Burns and Bear handled themselves, but it just didn't seem like the time.

Burns gets out his phone and makes a call. "Smith, it's Burns. We have a problem. I need four uniformed cops in two cars at my place. How soon can you get there?" He pays for our stuff and sets Ryder up on the lumber, then pushes him to the Jeep and its little trailer. "Cub, grab the cart, and stay close." 

I call for Bear, and we hurry to keep up with Burns' accelerated pace. We load the trailer, tie it down, and head home. Once at the house, Burns doesn't even bother with the trailer; he takes Ryder and urges me to keep up. His mannerisms are starting to make me a little scared, and I search the parking lot and street for something looking odd as he unlocks the door.

We hurry inside, and Burns takes Ryder over to the couch and sets him down before sitting next to him. He does stay there long and crawls into Burns' lap, so I take his seat next to Burns.

Burns thinks over what he wants to say to Ryder, who is scared out of his mind. He's sucking this thumb, which I've only seen him do at night, and his body is visibly shaking. I stand up, give him a hug, and reassure him that Burns will never let anything bad happen to him.

Then, to my surprise, Burns hugs us both, saying, "And I'll never let you go back to your old life, Ryder. Lenny or any of his family members can't own you. Now I need you to calm down enough to tell me everything about Lenny. You don't have a choice, kiddo; I need to know it all so I can keep you both safe. They want to kill you and Cub, so I need to stop them." 

"How much of the story?"

"As far back as you can remember," Burns says as Smith walks into the apartment.

"Oh my god, are you boys okay?" He asks and takes a seat on the couch. He pulls me into his lap, and we listen to Ryder's story. Burns holds Ryder close to his chest and begins to rock him gently. Ryder sniffles and whines a little bit, but he begins his story:

Ryder

Three years ago

My name is Ryder Kevson. Well, to be honest, that's not my real last name. My real last name is Stanley, Ryder Stanley. But I've learned my lesson, and I'll never utter that last name again. My father lost me to Aram Kevson in a poker card game when I was five years old. You heard me right--a card game. Who bets their child in a card game? I don't remember a lot of my life before then. I know Mr. Kevson has owned me for two years.

My job is to clean the boys and the toys during the day, and before I go to sleep at night, I have to clean their rooms. I live in what Aram calls a Rent House. Sometimes it's hard to understand him, but he has a teenage son, named Lenny, who follows him wherever he goes and speaks like I do, so most of the time it is he who I talk to.

Boys rotate in and out of here; ninety percent of them I can't even understand. I'm not sure what they're saying, but it's all gibberish to me. The rent house is so loud during the day, with loud moaning and screaming as the men pay their money and go to their room to have sex with their favorite boy. The nights are not any better, and the moaning is a different kind, one of pain and sorrow. At night, it is so still that you can hear them all crying. I don't get much sleep.

When Mr. Kevson has a meeting, I get the day off. I get to wear nice clothes, and Lenny and I read papers. I can do something none of the other boys can do; I remember everything I read, and I'm really good at math. I have to read with Lenny; he has me repeat it to him, and if I repeat it back to him, I get to burn the papers. I also keep track of the numbers, like which of the Rent Houses makes money and which ones don't.

Today, I was pulled off my day job and brought in front of Mr. Kevson. Lenny is standing next to him, and I'm sitting in the chair in front of his desk. My legs swing back and forth as I wait for instructions. Speaking when you are not asked to can get me a painful spanking, so I know to just sit. They talk back and forth in that weird language, and I have learned enough by listening that I can pick up certain words and phrases. Like my name, Rent House, bring the boy, get him back to work, etc.

They are talking about me learning some kind of number. Lenny says I can do it, but Mr. Kevson thinks it's too much of a car... No wait, not a car; too much of a risk. They talk back and forth like this until Lenny says my name, "Ryder!" I jump in my seat and grip the chair tightly.

"Yes.... Sir?" I answer with a shaky voice.

"Tell me about the `Quicky Shop' deal. Repeat the contract to me."

I close my eyes and try to calm myself down as much as I can. Document after document flashes through my mind as I look for the right one. After a while, Mr. Kevson begins to get angry, and he and Lenny begin fighting again. He doesn't think I can remember things that far back, and I'm only good for short-term things. There was some stuff I didn't understand, but that was the most of it. I feel Lenny's hand on my shoulder as he roughly yanks me from my chair and almost drags me to the door.

As we're going through the door, I grab the door jam and begin to yell the document: "One year and one month ago, you and the wady Chin signed a deaw that read that you wouwd be her onwy suppwier of boys. She pays for them upfront of the time they wiww be used using the 'sex formuwa' and then you get twenty-five percent of each boy's take each night and wiww colwwect it on the wast day of the month..."

I'm interrupted by Lenny, who drops to a knee and hugs me. This is the first hug I've gotten here, and it's cold and painful. He releases me, and yes, he believes I can do it. Lenny picks me up and sets me back in the chair. Mr. Kevson looks at me with his drilling eyes. The eyes that enjoy watching young boys being spanked, fucked, tortured, and broken I think I'm about to cry when he slides a sheet of paper over to me with a long, long, long number on it. It covers every inch of the paper. The numbers seem random at first, but when my eyes scan them for the second time, I see the pattern.

"Can you do it, Ryder? Can you memorize that number on the paper?" Lenny asks. 

I read it one more time and nodded. He takes the paper from me and tells me to recite the number, so I do. Mr. Kevson smiles and sits back into his chair comfortably. They talk for a few minutes, and Lenny has me recite it again, so I do. They laugh, and Lenny messes up my hair, telling me I did a good job.

For the next three days, I'm pulled from the Rent House that I'm working in that day and left in a car by myself with only a bottle of water and the paper with the number on it. I have to read it over and over for an hour. On the third day, I'm told, "Ryder, are you sure you have this number memorized? You're going to have to remember it when I ask for it, even if it's like a year or two away."

A year or two--wow, that's a long time away. I know what will happen if I tell him I can't, so I just say yes. He smiled, and I was put back to work, and that's all I heard about the number until the day I met the District Attorney. 

The District Attorney is a man who visits the Rent House quite a lot. Sometimes he takes boys home for a few days and then brings them back. Those boys are in bad shape, and it takes me weeks to get them back to work. No one wants a boy covered in bruises and cuts. I overheard once that he comes in here and picks a boy to be his personal rent boy for three or four years, then returns them to get a new one. He likes to get them young, like seven or eight, and return them right before they squirt, whatever that means.

That's what he's doing here today. I hear my name being shouted throughout the house over the loud moaning and screaming of the rent boys. I run downstairs, and the District Attorney has brought back his boy. He looks like he's about twelve or thirteen. He's got a black eye, and he whines every time the District Attorney touches his butt or shoulders. The boy looks a little older than what we have at this house. I think ten is the oldest we keep here.

"Ryder, Ryder!" Lenny practically shouts, making me flinch as he brings me out of my personal thoughts. "Take Mr. McGee to look at our stock of boys. Begin with the youngest ones; Mr. McGee likes them young." 

I nod, and he follows me up the stairs. Our youngest ones are on the third floor, and the oldest ones are on the top. Mr. McGee stops me and kneels down to take a closer look after observing four of the boys on this floor, one of whom, a fat man who paid for two hours, was severely fucking. He takes off my shirt and feels my chest. With one swift movement, he takes down my pants and begins feeling my privates. I've never done anything the other boys do. I've never even been naked in front of anyone but Lenny.

After roughly feeling my balls, he spins me around and bends me over. I know better to say something or try to stop a customer from doing what he wants to one of the boys, but does that include me? I've never been included before, and fear and sorrow overtake me, and I begin to cry. I don't want to scream or moan in pain until I fall asleep at night. I don't like spanking or being yelled at. I can feel his fat fingers moving around my butt crack, and then he spreads my cheeks apart so far that I think my crack is going to rip. A little scream slips out, but I stop it with my hand. He pokes at my butthole with his finger a few times and then asks, "Are you a virgin?"

He releases his grip and spins me around. I don't know what that means, but I feel like I have to say something, so I answer, "I'm Ryder, and I'm six."

He smiles and tells me, "Good boy, good boy." Normally I like when Lenny or even Mr. Kevson tells me that, but for some reason, that was the scariest thing I've ever heard when it came from that man's lips.

He takes me by the hand and takes me back down the stairs. I only showed him four boys. Has he made his choice already? Will Lenny be mad that I didn't show him the rest?

We get downstairs and find that Lenny has just left. He left instructions for Mr. McGee to fill out the paperwork with the boy's name and number; we each have a number, even me, and then he could leave. I didn't fully understand what was happening until he picked me up and carried me to the car.

"Wait, wait, you can't buy me! I'm not wike the others. Lenny's going to be mad! You've got to wet me go back in. I've got chamber pots to cwean and boys to wash up before the afternoon customers," I pleaded as McGee knocked on the glass wall that separates us from the car driver.

The driver pulls away, and I try the door latches to get out, but they're locked. "Now, now, calm down. You'll be living in high society from now on. I've never seen a boy as cute as you. You're going to love it at my house, and we're going to have so much fun together." 

I sit back in my seat and think about how Mr. McGee treats the boys he rents, and my heart sinks. What is going to happen to me?

Once we get to his house, I'm shown around the huge mansion. I'm introduced to his bodyguard, and he shakes my little hand. Together, we walk up to my new bedroom. It's so big, and everything is colored white and black. There is a lady up here waiting for us, and I'm introduced to her. She's Mexican, and her speech is a little broken but understandable.

I stand in the doorway and marvel at all the toys, stuffed animals, and books in here. "This is where you will be spending most of your time. Martha will be responsible for you when I am away. She has raised all my boys, and I trust her with you." Mr. McGee picks me up, and we walk to the bed as he continues to talk. "Ryder, there are some rules here at my house that you will never break. If you do, you will be punished. You'll be punished so that you will learn not to break them, understand? The first rule is: Your name will be Ben from now on."

Ben? "What's wrong wif my name, sir?" I ask.

He smiles and looks very gentle when he answers, "We are starting a new life together, and I need your name to be the same as a boy I once knew. His name was Ben." Okay, I'm not sure what it is about this kid named Ben, but using his name feels wrong. "Rule two: You never wear clothes in my house. I want you naked. I want to see how beautiful you are all the time. You have a great-looking body, Ben, and I never want to see it covered unless I take you on a trip."

That rule is a little embarrassing, but it's not like people will be looking at me, but these three are so okay. I begin to take off my clothes, and Martha takes them from me. "Rule three: You must mind me as if I were your father. Never disobey me, Ben. I'm very strict with my boys, and you won't like what happens. Rule four: If I'm at the house, you are at my side. You must follow me around and do as I ask. If I sit down, unless instructed not to, you will be expected to crawl into my lap, understand?"

I nod in confirmation that I understand the rules. They seem kind of silly, but they are easy enough to follow and do. The rules went on for about an hour or more. You wouldn't believe all the rules I have to follow, and I can easily see how one of his boys would forget them and be punished. But what he doesn't know yet is that I remember everything, so I won't be breaking any rules. I don't like spankings, and I'm guessing that's what happens if you break one of these silly rules.

The doorbell chimes, making me jump a little, and Mr. McGee hugs me and tells me not to worry. The bodyguard is following Martha as she goes to answer the door. Mr. McGee continued with the rules; he's up to fifty-seven, Jeesh.

Soon there is a soft knock on my door, and it opens. The bodyguard is there, and he says, "Sir, it's the Armenians. There seems to be a mixup, and it requires your attention." 

My new master, rule thirty-nine: I must call him Master. He sets me on the floor and takes my little hand, saying with a smile, "Let's go see what they want, alright?" We descend the stone staircase that leads to the front door. "Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?"

Mr. Kevson is here with Lenny, and both seem very upset when they see my naked body standing next to my master. Mr. Kevson is really upset and is talking so fast that I can't translate it enough to understand his problem. Lenny tries to calm him down enough so he can talk, then says, "Ryder is not available to be picked as your new boy. I apologize for the mixup. He is too young to be treated in such a matter."

Master smiles and informs him, "We have a contract. I was told I could have any boy I wanted in that building."

"But Ryder isn't included!" Shouts Mr. Kevson in broken English.

"What makes this boy so special? Why isn't he included in my options?" Asks my master.

Mr. Kevson and his son argue in hush whispers about getting the number from me. Lenny speaks up and asks, "May we speak with the boy for a little while alone?" 

Master considers their request a little while then answers, "No, I don't think so. He is mine now, and I don't think I want to let him talk to you. I'm afraid he will get confused between the life he had with you and his new one. Now, if there isn't anything else?"

I hide behind my master as much as I can to avoid the angry eyes of the Kevsons. They leave, and once the door shuts, I can hear them fighting all the way to their SUV. Before asking, "Are you okay?" Master lifts me into the air and tickles my penis, causing me to laugh.

"Yes, Master. They scare me, and I'm gwad to be here with you." 

He smiles and hugs me. It's a warm hug on my goose-bumped skin. I think this will be nice. I think I'm going to like it here.

"Ben, what makes you so special? Why are they so eager to get you back?" 

I freeze up and don't really know. But I have to answer--it's a rule! "Um, I take care of the boys for the customers. I cwean the chamber pots, bring them their sandwiches, and wash the boys to keep them cwean. I do what Wenny tewws me to do."

"No one rents you?" He asks as we enter the reading room.

"No Master. I've never been rented," I answer him as he sits down. He repositions me on his lap and reaches for a book.

"Don't you think that's odd? I wonder why that would be."

"I'm sorry, master; don't be mad at me. I don't know why I'm speciaw."

Clyde Burns

I ask Ryder, who is totally exhausted from being so scared, nervous, and ashamed, so I only ask one more question: "And you don't know what the number is for?" 

He shakes his head `no' and sleepily lays his head on my shoulder. "It must be reawwy important, because they've tried over the years to get Master to wet them tawk to me awone. I'm sure that is what they want," he says with a yawn.

"Ryder, I have one more question," Smith begins. "Why weren't you at the boy auction with the DA?"

He picks up his head and answers, "I normawwy awways go to the auctions, but I got reawwy sick, so I stayed home that night."

"Okay, let's get you to bed for a nap."

"But I'm not tired." Ryder groggily says this and trails off into a heavy snore on my shoulder. It's been a long day, and I need to sit and think about our next move. I don't think it's wise to stay here. I think we're going to have to go into hiding.