Date: Sun, 25 Mar 2018 19:27:37 +0000 (UTC)
From: Hank M <redbeardedsf (at) yahoo (dot) com>
Subject: LUKE'S SUMMER INDENTURE, parts 1&2

SUMMER INDENTURE EXTENDED

By Master Redbeard
for comments or compliments
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dot com


If you enjoy this story (and ones like it) SUPPORT NIFTY! This story exists
because Nifty is there to publish it... I bet there are other authors here
who would say the same about their writing. It's more fun knowing it can be
shared.

This is an adult erotic gay slave fiction story. If such stories offend
you, or if it is illegal to read such stories where you're located or
because of your age, please go away now. If you can't tell the difference
between fantasy and reality, go away quickly and get help. The story is set
in a society where good looking young men can be bought, sold or leased as
slaves -- generally used for sex by powerful men.

In this story, Luke would like to spend the summer before college goofing
off at the beach club. But a wealthy new neighbor needs a slaveboy, a
limited indenture just for the summer. But will this man be satisfied to
only own Luke for three months, and to have limitations on his rights to
this athletic 18-year-old's body?


CHAPTER ONE
As Told by Mr. Cruz

I understand the finer things in life. I have a magnificent home in
Kentucky staffed by slaves. Although I am vice president of a major
corporation, I also maintain our plantation as a farm -- a small operation
with two overseers and about fifty slaves working the land. Like most
gentlemen in my position, I also dabble in slave trading. I've made some
wise investments in newly-enslaved boys, trained them, built up their
bodies, and sold them for a big profit.

Kentucky is a state that knows how to treat its indentured population. Down
South we aren't bothered by these slaves' rights organizations. There is a
big whipping frame in the courtyard in front of the slave quarters, and
every slave on my property has felt the lash.

So I wasn't happy when the president of my company insisted I spend the
summer months in New York, working with a company we were buying. My
corporation rented a fine house in Westchester, north of the City, for my
son and myself -- it was tiny compared to what we were used to, but would
still require household staff. I didn't want to bring any of my slaves
north from Kentucky. New York State's indenture laws are muddled with all
sorts of liberal nonsense (How dare a state tell me how I may and may not
punish my own indentured property?). I was afraid that if I brought some
slaves north, I wouldn't be able to bring them back to Kentucky.

The home was fully furnished, but without the grand style we are used to in
the South. Once the slave delivery people had left our bags and boxes, we
were on our own. "Do they expect us to unpack and put away our own things?"
my son Cameron snapped. "As if we were working proles who can't even afford
slave help?"

It had been a frustrating experience all around. I had phoned some slave
rental agencies, but the first one told me there would be a waiting period
while I was investigated (can you imagine? Investigating the slave owner
rather than the property?). The next one started rattling off so many
restrictions, including the number of hours the slave could be worked, that
I slammed the phone down.

Then I looked out the window and saw a lean youth with glistening muscles
who was mowing the lawn across the street. While my side of the street had
grand estates, each situated on a large plot of land, the other side had
smaller homes, probably upper middle class professionals -- the sort of
families that might have just one slave on household staff. That being
said, I was surprised by the beauty of the boy who was sweating nearly
naked across the street.

His dirty blond hair was cropped short -- not an approved a slave haircut
down South, but the sort of short cut acceptable for New York slaves. His
hairless torso was hard and slim, the body of a runner or swimmer. I knew
that a property like this boy would bring in a high price from most any boy
brothel, and wondered how a family in such a modest home had been able to
afford him.

His hair was pasted down with sweat and rivulets of moisture slid down his
face, then his neck, his chest and into the frayed waistband of the green
shorts that slid low on his hips. The sweat stains at the stretched
waistband continued down the back of the fabric defining the cleft of his
nicely curved butt. When the boy bent forward to adjust something on the
mower, I saw half of his ass crack revealed. I had to put my hand in my
pants pocket to adjust my growing erection.

My son came to the window and immediately saw what I was watching. "Maybe
the neighbor would let us borrow that slaveboy, dad? At least to help us
unpack our things?" His words echoed my thoughts exactly, except I was
already wondering if I could befriend this neighbor and get my hands on
this teenage boy's ass.

I saw a handsome woman step out of the front door of the house carrying a
bag of garbage. Why was she taking the trash out to the can instead of
having her boy do it? I took this opportunity to head across the street and
introduce myself to my new neighbor.

By the time I got across the street I heard shouting beside the house. I
ran the rest of the way only to find the nearly-naked youth yelling loudly
at the woman. I always keep a retractable slave tawse on my belt. I pulled
it out and slapped it across the boy's exposed shoulders. "What the hell is
going on here?" I shouted in my booming voice.

The boy grabbed his shoulder and looked at me with fury. "What the
fuck...?"

I raised my tawse again, this time intending to give a harsher strike to
the insolent youth. But the woman stepped between us. "Please, sir. What
are you doing?"

Shaking my head I said, "I know things are done differently in New York,
but permitting your slaveboy to speak to you in such a way is intolerable."

The woman stood frozen, her eyes wide, before she broke into a wide smile
and said "This isn't a slaveboy. This is my son, Luke."

Trying to understand what was going on, I asked, "You have indentured your
son?"

"No," she chuckled. Then her voice grew harsh as she turned to the boy and
continued, "You see that, Luke? This man assumed you were a slave because
of the sloppy way you dress and groom yourself."

"Awwww, mo-o-om, it's so hot out and I'm dripping sweat," he groaned as he
tugged his drooping gym shorts up to his waist.

"You have your son do..." I stammered to find the next words. I was going
to say, "slave tasks," but I didn't want to offend the sensibilities of
these northerners. "It's just, where we come from free boys do not dress
like that and do not mow their own lawns. And that thing around his
neck...?"

The boy grasped at a makeshift choker, and grunted, "My girlfriend made
this for me." The youth retrieved a dirty white t-shirt from the grass and
used it to wipe the sweat from his face and then from his body. His mother
explained that these mock collars, hand-made of fabric and plastic, were a
style trend among high school students to say they are slaves to love.

My son Cameron came across the street and joined me. Luke reached out a
hand to greet Cameron, and my son cringed back. "Father?" he asked
disdainfully as he looked at me.

I smiled and said, "Luke is not an indenture. He is this lady's son."
Cameron seemed startled but still moved away from Luke's gesture of
greeting.

I introduced myself to this attractive neighbor and explained that I would
just be staying in the big house across the street for two months. I told
her I would invite her for coffee, but there was nobody at our house to
even make coffee. She invited us into her modest kitchen, where she brewed
coffee.

Mrs. Nicholas explained that her husband had died three years earlier
leaving her to raise her two sons. The house was fully paid off, so they
had a comfortable place to live. But they had to make economies, the first
being selling their household slaves. She, Luke, and her younger boy had
taken on all the chores and upkeep of the place. This was in addition to
her full-time job as a university professor.

As Luke passed us on his way to the stairs, I asked, "And what was all that
shouting about?"

In the brash manner of teen boys, the blond youth snarled, "My mom doesn't
trust me."

The woman shook her head and said, "I just got an offer to teach a summer
program in California. It would be a nice chunk of money, but I can't bring
along my sons. My youngest is a quiet, well-behaved boy of fifteen and he
can go to stay with his grandfather. But Luke has butted heads too much
with my father-in-law and the old man will not let him stay there for the
summer."

"I just turned eighteen, mom," the boy interrupted. "I can stay here on my
own. Why don't you trust me?"

I could smell the boy's musky body and felt my cock throb at the words
"just turned eighteen." That meant he was legal age to be indentured. I
looked over at my son, Cameron. Our eyes met. We were both thinking the
same thing.

The mother had a calm, rational answer ready. She reminded the boy of some
prank he had gotten involved with earlier in the spring. "You were lucky it
was before your birthday. If you had been eighteen when they caught you,
you'd have been stripped naked up on some auction block."

"Yeah, probably in Gaytown. They like boys like you in Gaytown." I was
startled and realized that Luke's younger brother, Tommy, had just come
downstairs. Tommy had a tinge of red in his hair and freckles on his round
face. His body was chunkier than Luke's. The tightness of his shorts on his
bubble butt and the way his t-shirt stretched over his pecs made me think
the boy must have had a recent growth spurt and needed new clothes. I knew
plenty of auction houses that would have given a generous payout as a
pre-bid on the fifteen-year-old boy, prepared to collect the property on
his eighteenth birthday.

Tommy ran out of the house and Luke left us to go take a shower. At a
signal from me, my son Cameron excused himself to return to our rented
house; he knew I wanted to talk business. I only half-way listened to
Mrs. Peyton's tales of financial troubles. I wondered whether this woman
realized that if she sent both of her sons for auction, she could retire
with fabulous wealth.

When she concluded, I told her I admired her gumption for managing to live
without slaves. I made a joke about my own lack of life skills and how
helpless my son and I were without slave staff. She praised her sons for
learning to take care of household tasks. "Not only can Luke cook and do
the dishes and laundry, but he can mop the floor and make minor
repairs. He's also stronger than he looks. He may not be such a big kid,
but his muscles are hard."

I chuckled for show and then said, "Funny enough, when I thought the boy
was a slave, I was going to come here and ask if we could borrow him for a
few hours. But I just had another thought." I took a pause as if coming up
with this idea on the spot. "Would you consider signing up Luke as a summer
indenture?"

The woman seemed startled, but I didn't want to give her any time to
object. "Hear me out. You know the laws of New York are pretty lenient on
slaves. And for a summer indenture there are even more restrictions on a
Master. You said that Luke couldn't find any summer work because low-level
jobs are all filled by slaves these days. But here's a way for the boy to
bring in good money, at the same time he won't have any living expenses and
he can't get into trouble."

Her face went from apprehensive to appreciative. "He'll pitch a fit about
this. He wanted to spend the summer with his friends at the swim club."

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. "You've made so many sacrifices for
your family, Mrs. Peyton. Here's a sacrifice Luke can make that will keep
him supervised the entire summer, help defray the cost of college, and
maybe help him become a better, more disciplined young man."

When it looked like she might have another objection, I wrote a sum on a
paper napkin and pushed it toward her. Her eyes lit up. "This amount is
just for the summer? Luke needs to leave for college the day after Labor
Day in September."

She phoned a neighbor she trusted. She told me that Mr. Thrush was retired
from the slave trading business, and had been helpful to her when she had
to sell her previous slaves. Meanwhile I excused myself to use the restroom
and managed to open the bathroom door with perfect timing so I walked in on
Luke stepping out of the shower. His buttcheeks were even more inviting
bare and glistening wet. I knew that I was going to have that boy's
delicious ass.

CHAPTER TWO

We reconvened half an hour later in my parlor. Mrs. Nicholas had brought
along Mr. Thrush, a jolly fat old man, with a thick head of white hair and
a big tummy hanging over his belt. Luke was also there, but grudgingly.
Dressed in baggy jeans and a t-shirt, he had his hands in his pockets and
was slouching as he kept on repeating, "You can't do this to me, mom."

Mr. Thrush had a soft but manly voice as he said, "Luke, you have now been
officially informed that an action of indenture is being considered. You
are not yet a slaveboy. But you are in the process. Therefore you must
follow certain rules. And you must follow orders from the free people in
this room."

"Maybe I'm in the process, Mr. Thrush. My mom hasn't made up her mind yet."

"Luke, please, if I sign you up for a summer indenture, it solves so many
of our problems, son," she woman pleaded.

Mr. Thrush touched her arm and said, "I know you're speaking as a concerned
mother. But in this situation, you must do what's best for the potential
indenture. Pleading with him or asking his permission to go through with
this is certainly not a good start."

The fat man ordered Luke to take his hands out of his pockets and stand at
attention. When the boy did not move, the old man grabbed him around and
pulled a paddle from his jacket pocket. I never would have guessed that a
man his age and his size had the speed and strength to hold the teenager
and smack his ass five times hard with the paddle.

Luke moaned and rubbed his butt through his jeans. The retired slave trader
snapped, "At attention, boy, hands behind your head and stay still and
silent." Even though he was sniffling, Luke did as he was told.

Mr. Thrush had a sample contract with all the standard provisions. He and I
flanked Mrs. Peyton as she went through the different paragraphs and
initialed each one. No disfigurement, no body modifications, and no
tattooing -- these were standard for such a short-term indenture. There
were to be no punishments that broke the skin. He would eat only approved
slave mush and drink only water. He would wear a slave collar and dress in
whatever uniform was chosen by his master.

Then we got to the sensitive section about sexual uses of the
slave. Naturally, the mother began with, "Well, no sexual uses at all."

Mr. Thrush was solicitous and said, "Yes, of course. But I think you'll
find this no-insertion clause will cover your concerns. No insertion means
that there can be no penis or other object inserted into the boy's mouth or
his rectum." He paused and then continued, "I'm sorry to be so blunt with
my language, but I want this to be clearly understood by you and by Luke."

His voice grew softer as he explained, "Clauses that have said no sex
whatsoever have led to some tricky cases that have clogged up our
courts. After all, an owner must have the right to examine a slaveboy's
body at will. There was a frivolous lawsuit from a short-term indenture who
claimed that his owner's touches constituted sex.

"At the same time, an owner has the right to expect certain services. I'm
sure men like Mr. Cruz and his son are used to having a slaveboy help them
in the shower. There was a nonsense lawsuit claiming that soaping up a
Master's chest and body constituted sexual activity. We wouldn't want to
deny them the use of their summer indenture boy to wash them in the shower,
would we?"

I noticed the troubled look on Luke's face and I also noticed the glint in
Mr. Thrush's eyes as he licked his lips and looked up and down the
teenager's body. I knew then that I would have an ally in my goal to turn
this free teenager into a real cock-servicing slaveboy.

I thanked the fat man for his insight but asked for my own
clarifications. "You understand that I'm from a different part of the
country, so I want to put this all out on the table. Of course it's obvious
that no genitals could go into the slaveboy's mouth or anus. That's the
point of a no-insertion sex clause." I nodded to the woman across the table
from me. "I apologize to the lady for my frank language. But I need to be
clear on this no-insertion clause whether I could insert a drinking hose
into the boy's mouth? Or if the slaveboy needed an enema...." I shrugged
and let my voice peter out rather than complete the thought.

"Sometimes the simple words `in reasonable circumstances' can go a long way
to ironing out questions like this," Mr. Thrush helpfully interjected. I
gave the man a half-smile. He and I both knew that courts had found the
"reasonable circumstances" clause vague. Slave owners could get away with
all sorts of crap and then offer "reasonable circumstances" as their
explanation.

I looked at the curve of the teenager's ass in his jeans and imagined how
warmly those cheeks would cling to my thick fingers when I got up his hole.

After the woman signed, she pushed the paper toward me. I paused and said,
"I can't sign until I've done a thorough examination of the merchandise."
Mr. Thrush and I assured the mother that this was not something she would
want to observe, and we sent her home to gather a bag with some of Luke's
clothes.

She kissed her son goodbye and told him to be a good boy. "Just do as
you're told and I'm certain Mr. Cruz will be a good Master to you."

"Mo-o-om, you can't do this to me. I'll be good. I'll apologize to grandpa
so he'll let me stay there."

"Now, Luke, none of this nonsense. You'll be kept busy and out of
trouble. You will earn money for college. And maybe you'll get some more
discipline and order in your life." She shook hands with me and the retired
slave trader and left.

Thrush taught Luke standard slave display poses. Then we led him upstairs
to my bedroom. There was a small room about the size of a closet that was
meant as sleeping quarters for a body slave. There was also a punishment
horse and a whipping frame. I made sure Luke saw both.

"OK, boy, strip down so we can examine the merchandise."

He took his hands from behind his head and stepped toward me as he said,
"Look, man, I'll be a good boy for you. I'll be your servant. I'll cook and
do all the other stuff. But this slave bullshit is...."

I took an electronic prod from my pocket and touched it to the boy's
neck. He fell to the floor, his body writhing. As he gasped for air he
said, "Y-you're not allowed to punish me in ways that...."

"I'm not allowed to punish you in ways that break the skin. An electric
prod does not break the skin, boy." With that I grabbed him by the collar
and lifted his head up far enough for me to smack his face hard with an
open palm.

Staring into his eyes I snarled, "Play time is over, Lukie boy. That prod
was set to a 20% charge. Next time I have to use it there will be a 30%
charge. And we will go up from there, slave."

"Luke," Mr. Thrush said in his firm but soft voice. "You're a slaveboy
now. At this point it's only temporary for the summer. But you'd better
start acting like a slaveboy, or you'll be in for a world of hurt."

"B-but, Mr. Thrush...." The boy began stammering. This time Thrush pulled
the boy to his feet, took the slave prod from me and touched it to the
youth's nipple through his t-shirt. Even as the youth convulsed, the old
man held him upright. "You address all free men as SIR," Thrush hissed.

"You were ordered to strip down naked, boy," I snapped.

"Y-yes sir," Luke whimpered as he peeled his t-shirt over his head. I had
already seen the smooth slender chest, but now it was exposed in my own
bedroom. The teenager kicked off his sneakers and socks with his feet. Then
he reluctantly unzipped his jeans and let them fall. He stepped out of them
and stood in a pair of plaid boxer shorts, his hands covering his crotch.

"Luke? I thought you were a bright boy? Is it possible you don't understand
the meaning of the word naked?"

He quickly peeled down the boxers but kept trying to hide his penis. When I
held up the slave prod in a threatening way he put his hands behind his
head and was fully revealed in all his youthful glory. He was blushing deep
red.

I touched his semi-erect penis and said, "Getting stripped by your Master
is getting you hard, Luke. You do know that if it turns out a boy is gay,
then all the restrictions on sex are lifted."

"P-p-please, sir... please, Master. It gets hard when I get nervous or
scared, sir."

Thrush was circling the boy and letting his thick fingers land wherever he
pleased. They caressed the round globes of Luke's ass cheeks as he said
"I've known his lad since he first started school. He certainly has filled
out very nicely -- especially this lovely little round ass of his. A shame
about the no-insertion provision."

I saw tears forming in Luke's eyes as I replied, "There may be creative
ways around that." Thrush adjusted the erection in his pants.

# # #

(TO BE CONTINUED)

for comments or compliments
r -- e -- d -- b -- e -- a -- r -- d -- e -- d -- s -- f at y a h o o dot com