Date: Mon, 2 Apr 2018 23:22:15 +0000 (UTC)
From: Hank M <redbeardedsf (at) yahoo.com>
Subject: WILD PUPS SALE, chapters 3-4

WILD PUPS SALE 3-4

By Master Redbeard
for comments or compliments
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The three 18-year-old jocks facing indenture at this month's Wild Pups Sale
are:

RUSSELL: blond, beautiful football player (modeled after Brit actor
R. Tovey, who likes to take his clothes off on camera).

WALLY: curly haired, freckle-faced baseball player/wrestler (modeled after
1950s TV sitcom character W. Cleaver "Leave it to Beaver," all American
teen boy)

CODY: gymnast, boyish, small (modeled after any number of cute boyish
blonds, but let's say whichever Sprouse brother posed in white underpants)


The following two chapters follow Russell onto the auction floor.

3. RUSSELL:
PREPARING THE MERCHANDISE

I guess it doesn't matter if I confess that I always enjoyed showing
off. The truth is I got a sexual thrill when I was forced to strip in front
of that courtroom. Knowing there was a big group of older gays sitting
nearby (and even touching themselves as they watched) made my cock pop up
stiff as I peeled down my plaid boxers.

You see, that courtroom wasn't the first time I undressed for
homosexuals. In my opinion I was a funny-looking kid and I know I still
don't have standard good looks: my ears stick out, my nose is turned up in
a piggy way, and my upper lip curves funny. But for some reason I always
got told how cute I was when I was little. When I became a teen people
started to use words like sexy or handsome -- when you hear something like
that enough times you start to believe it.

So I got offered money to pose for pictures when I was still in middle
school. There was this older man who was a big fan of our school sports
teams. He was always donating stuff for our teams or taking us out to pizza
parties. He took a lot of photos of our games and even made scrapbooks that
he gave to the players. One evening after a late game, my dad couldn't come
pick me up and this man offered me a ride home. His car was the nicest I'd
ever been in up to then.

He drove slow and talked about how much he admired the youthful male form
and boys' muscles as they developed. He went on about how my body was
different than it had been a year earlier and it would be different a year
from then. Well, next thing we ended up back at his house and he was
snapping away with his camera, telling me why I had to take down my
underpants if we were going to really chronicle the way my body would be
changing. Twenty minutes after that he had swallowed a load of my jizz.

He paid me $40! He had offered me $20 to strip down for the pictures. Then
he added another $20 for the load of spunk I fed him. My head was
spinning. I had always figured I would have to pay for someone to suck my
dick, but here was a man who paid for the pleasure of using his mouth on
me.

After that I became more aware of guys looking at me, and more aware of gay
guys. When I would catch a guy admiring my body, I'd purposely show off for
him, even bending over if the guy was looking at my rear end. And things
like this would always get my dick chubbing up.

Wearing basketball shorts to school was comfortable for me. Sometimes I'd
wear briefs or a jock underneath the shorts. But when I wore boxers, I knew
that my thickening dick head would creep down the left leg of the
underpants and could be seen if I spread my legs wide enough. I would sit
like that with my legs spread wide in English class, and that always got
Mr. Tucci's attention. He would be staring and then lose track of what he
was talking about. Then I'd come up to his desk at the end of class to ask
him some dumb question, and I'd pretend I didn't know that the tent in my
shorts was right at his eye level.

But what I started talking about was that I got a thrill out of being
forced to strip in the courtroom with all those older homosexuals watching
and getting off. I knew I looked good.

When the three of us newly-enslaved boys got bare ass naked and we were
collared and re-cuffed, the judge explained the milking process to collect
our sperm. It took me a moment to recognize that the stocky middle-aged man
who stepped up to milk me had been the assistant coach of my middle school
football team. He always acted friendly toward me and my family. I was
surprised that he had been sitting to the left in the Gay Gallery. He
immediately had his hands all over my body, feeling my chest, squeezing my
leg muscles, and slapping my butt. He grunted into my ear, "All those years
ago I used to watch your little bubble butt in the shower. Now I finally
get to feel up your ass for myself, Russell."

He wrapped his fingers around my very stiff dick and started stroking it
slowly. "Damn, kid, we don't have to work you up to a boner. You're already
turned on for this. I always wondered if you were one of those boys who's
meant to be a slave."

I probably could have shot my wad within a minute of him jerking my
erection. But I was enjoying putting on a show for the crowded courtroom. I
glanced around at the many people who were watching my big dick being
masturbated. I looked down at my cock and saw another man kneeling in front
of me holding a bowl to catch my cream. I pushed my hips forward as I let
my spunk fly into the bowl -- one shot flew so high that the crowd
applauded, and some even landed on the face of the man who knelt in front
of me. He didn't seem to mind.

Back down in the courthouse sub-basement, I heard free men arguing. The
courthouse people wanted to prep the three of us new slaves, but the people
from the Gaytown Slave Hall wanted to prep us "up to their standards." In
the end the Gaytown people won their argument and Wally, Cody and I were
shackled inside cages and driven to Gaytown with our body hair intact.

They have an efficient operation down at the Gaytown Slave Hall. Two big
African bath slaves carried my cage into the facilities and didn't let me
out until we were in a confined, tiled room that contained a toilet and a
shower. One of them put a bowl of slave mush on the floor. I looked up at
him and said, "What am I supposed to do with that?"

"Eat it," he snapped with a thick accent. Then he grinned at his comrade
and said, "I thought these high school boys were supposed to be smart."

The second ebony-skinned slave was kinder as he said, "That's the only food
you're going to get from now till the end of tomorrow's auction. It's
nutritious and you'll get used to the taste."

"Don't you know how slaveboys eat?" laughed the first. "Just put your mouth
down into the food and eat it like the animal you are."

Once I cleaned out the bowl they gave me a hose to drink from. But the hose
would only release water if I sucked on the penis-shaped tip. When I
finished drinking I felt my stomach gurgling. The two muscular blacks
lifted me up and bent me over a railing. I felt a thick finger greasing up
my butthole and began to protest. Then the finger was removed and a nozzle
went up inside me.

"Hold the water in. You must learn to hold it until you are commanded to
let go. Dribbling brown water down your legs is the kind of thing that gets
a new slaveboy's ass caned." I felt like my tummy would burst from the
pressure of the water, until they told me I could sit on the toilet and let
it out.

Although I liked having my body admired, nobody had ever watched me sitting
on a toilet and doing my business. But I didn't have time to be
embarrassed. The two of them lifted my body, spun me around and hosed down
my ass crack, going so far as to spread my cheeks and expose my hole to the
blast of water.

"Gotta make sure it's all clean back there," said the nicer of the black
slaves. "You're gonna have a lot of fingers up this hole tomorrow."

That was the moment when the seriousness of my situation hit me. Knowing I
would be displayed for the pleasure of homosexuals was a turn on for
me. But realizing that those gays would be able to shove fingers up my ass
and could do as they liked to my body, made me feel queasy.

I felt numb as the two black slaves placed me under the shower and shaved
every hair from my body. Once more I had to bend over as one of them spread
my cheeks and the other carefully shaved around my pucker. I didn't even
realize there were hairs behind my balls, but they shaved every one.

When I squirmed too much, the slave with the accent picked up a paddle and
smacked my ass five times. I was stunned. "I didn't know slaves could
paddle other slaves, dude."

The calmer of the two chimed in, "Look, if we take too long we will be
punished. If we accidentally leave some hairs on you, we will be
punished. If we accidentally knick you with the razor, we will be
punished. You are new to enslavement, white boy. Just do not make another
slave's job more difficult."

After he said that I tried to stay as still as I could as they examined my
body for stray hairs. Then they rubbed a cream everywhere from my neck
down, even covering my toes. When they washed the cream off they told me it
was a depilatory that would keep me from growing body hair for at least the
next six months.

"Then why did you have to shave me?"

"Things are done here the way things are done here."

A guard came in to examine me. The two slaves stood at attention. I did my
best to emulate their poses, but the guard punched me hard in the stomach,
saying, "That's fucking pathetic, slaveboy. Don't you know standard slave
poses?"

Although I grunted, I didn't bend over or display much reaction. My
abdominals are strong. I cleared my throat and started to say, "No, we
never had slaves around so I...." Before I could finish, he held an
electric prod to my nipple. This time I fell to the floor writhing and
gasping. No amount of muscle strength can shield you from an electric slave
prod.

The guard sneered down at me. "That was at 20% power. Next time you forget
to address a free man as SIR, it will be on 30% power, and go up from
there."

"S-s-sorry, s-s-sir. I was going to put the s-s-sir at the end of the
sentence...." This time the guard reached down to where I was lying on the
floor and punched me in the balls with the electric prod. I doubled over in
agony. I saw different colored lights and shapes spinning in front of my
eyes.

The guard nodded to the two bath slaves and said, "Dress him. And teach him
to keep his stupid mouth shut." Then he walked away.

Dressing me involved wrapping a thin chain behind my balls and around the
base of my penis. They warned me that the ball chain was electrified the
same as the thin platinum collar around my neck. They also warned me not to
speak to a free man unless asked a direct question. "And then make your
answer short and simple."

They then placed a locked cage around my penis, so I couldn't touch
myself. "There'll be no release for you until your new owner decides to
allow it. Some owners prefer to keep bucks like you permanently cock
caged. So I hope you enjoyed the handjob you got in the courtroom, white
boy, it may be your last for a long time."

"Or forever," his comrade added.

I was taken to a windowless room and placed in a cell beside other cells
that held my two classmates. A guard came in and without saying a word
jabbed a needle into my butt. I don't know what was in the needle, but I
soon fell asleep on the cold stone floor.

# # #

PART 4: RUSSELL: PLACED ON DISPLAY

I know it was around 2 pm when the slave cops took the three of us from
school. But I don't know what time it was when we were shipped to the
Gaytown Slave Hall, or how early it was when the burly guard threw a bucket
of water at me to wake me up. The guard stood outside our cells laughing as
each of us shivered and dripped. I saw then that my two classmates had also
been shaved completely.

The morning routine was even more efficient than the previous night's. The
three of us were showered together, but not allowed to speak. When we were
all dried and powdered, we were bent over to be inspected by the owner of
the Gaytown Slave Hall, Mr. Bodoni, a tall thin man who wore elegant
clothes and was effeminate in manner.

I felt my butthole being pulled open by a bath slave and then fingered by
the effete man. This finger plunged deep inside me. I gasped and would have
bolted upright if the bath slave hadn't held a strong arm on my
back. Mr. Bodoni's finger manipulated around up my hole, where nobody had
ever touched me before.

The tall man went through the same procedure with the other two new
slaveboys. Then he spoke without looking at anyone in particular, and said,
"I know how tense and frightened newly-enslaved free boys can be." He
chuckled to himself and then seemed to examine his manicured fingernails as
he continued "There's an erotic thrill to the tension and fear of
merchandise like this, hunks of slaveflesh who still think of themselves as
free boys."

The obviously gay man ordered us all to stand and I was immediately aware
that all three of us had very stiff erections sticking up in front of
us. He turned to the guards and said, "I have inserted their prostate
stimulating devices, so the slaveboys will remain erect. However, the bath
slaves will now bind the new merchandise behind the balls so they cannot
ejaculate."

His words sank in. Whatever the elegant man had placed up my butt would
keep my cock stiff as iron all day. But the plasticized band placed behind
my balls would keep me from being able to cum. No matter what was done to
me my dick would stay stiff with no relief possible.

Just before they handcuffed me, I was handed my own pair of plaid boxer
shorts -- the underpants I had worn to school the day before, the same pair
I had stripped down in front of the slave court. I pulled them up my legs,
but they did little for my modesty. More than half of my fully erect cock
stuck out of the left leg of the boxers, holding up the fabric. Because of
this pulling, I felt the back of the plaid underpants catch in the crack of
my ass, molding like a second skin around my butt cheeks.

Soon enough, the three of us were placed on platforms right at the front of
the Gaytown showroom, in an area cordoned off by velvet ropes. With a wall
of glass in front of us, I could see people out on the street pointing and
enjoying the view as we were being set in position. We each had our
platinum slave collar in place, our hands cuffed behind our backs and the
cuffs chained to our collars. My right foot was shackled to the platform,
so I could turn my body but couldn't leave the platform. The same was being
done to my other two classmates.

The platforms were only raised about a foot, so slaves for sale stood out
above the crowd, but our bodies were easily accessible. The words painted
across the front of the big window were meant for the people on the street,
so they were backwards from my vantage point on the sales floor. But I knew
what they said: "Wild Pups Sale -- Straight Teens in Their Free Boy
Underpants." I looked down at myself. This was truth in advertising.

Everyone had heard of Mr. Bodoni whose family had been in the slave trading
business for generations. He was openly gay and had followed in his family
tradition by opening the Gaytown Slave Hall. You didn't have to be gay to
buy a slave there. But their specialty was cute younger males who would be
used for sex (even if they did other work as well). His business struggled
until he came up with the concept of Wild Pup Sales.

It began when a bunch of teenage hooligans started a brawl during a soccer
match. Twenty were arrested and the local judge didn't know where to put
them, so he called Gaytown. Bodoni had to bring in extra guards to paddle,
shock and tawse the boys through the process of getting stripped, shaved,
and collared. At the last minute he came up with the idea of displaying the
boys in the underpants they'd worn when they went to that soccer match the
previous day.

For that first Wild Pups Sale, the boys were all shackled by both legs, and
were gagged. Most of them pulled on their chains and tried to yell curses
at the passing homosexuals. The prices paid for those twenty boys were
astronomical and put the Gaytown Slave Hall on the map. While most gays,
like most anyone, prefer slaves who are docile and well-trained, there was
a group of men who were excited by the challenge of breaking the spirits of
tough straight bruisers. On this particular Saturday, myself and the other
two school jocks were the straight bruisers.

It was early morning as Bodoni flitted around the room making tiny
adjustments that weren't even noticeable.  When he got to me, he pulled the
left leg hole of my plaid boxers up a little higher, so even more of my
boner was revealed.

He cleared his throat for attention and said, "Slaves are never told where
they're going or what's going to happen. Since slaves must follow any
directions given by their masters, there's no need for them to have
information. But for the sake of the sensibilities of these boys who were
free less than 24 hours ago, I will say this much: We do not want our
valuable products damaged in any way by unruly crowds. So there will not be
unruly crowds here today.

"For the first two hours this display will only be available to a select
audience. Of course our long-time clients who spend a great deal of money
at our establishment are always invited to preview fresh stock. But there
will also be people who have placed serious financial offers on any one of
these three slaves. After that, this display will be open to the public,
but only a small group of people at a time, and they will be carefully
monitored by our guards."

He took a deep breath and sighed, adding, "First there are certain
formalities we must adhere to." He nodded to a guard. "You can let them
in."

I gasped when I saw my father and two younger brothers rush toward me. My
dad had a really angry expression on his face. As soon as he approached me
he tugged down the back of my boxers and slapped his open palm hard on my
bare ass cheeks. "Goddamn..." Slap. "Selfish little..." Slap. "Spoiled
brat!" Slap.

"Sir!" A guard stepped toward my father and said, "You are welcome to smack
the slaveboy's butt or anything else to examine or test the
merchandise. But we ask that you not act in anger toward any of our
products."

"Products? Damn! This is my son," my father bellowed. "Give me a goddamn
bullwhip!" I noticed people gathered in front of the big window enjoying
this show.

Mr. Bodoni stepped in with a creepy smile on this face and put his long
boney fingers on my father's arm. "This hunk of slaveflesh may have once
been your son. But slaveboys do not have families. I couldn't possibly
allow anyone to use a whip on this boy's ass or back before our auction."

My father pulled away from the effeminate man and snarled, "What kinda
pansy-ass slave facility is this where you don't even whip these little
brats?"

"Our priority here is selling product that is presented in the best light."
Bodoni's long fingers now brushed up and down on my exposed butt. "The fact
that his ass cheeks are so flawless and smooth will play a significant
factor in his sale price. We use the paddle and the tawse and electric
shock devices liberally. But nothing to mar the silky skin on his ass."

That's when I noticed my two younger brothers staring up at me and
giggling. The youngest had his hand in his jeans pocket. He wasn't
disguising the fact that he was playing with himself through his
pocket. This got Mr. Bodoni's attention, even as my father began ranting
about "What difference does his sale price mean to me? I ain't gonna get a
penny out of it."

"Now, now, sir, we've offered to pay you for some of the slave's free boy
clothing, especially any underwear or sports items. That's often a novelty
for our buyers."

My dad continued as if the man hadn't spoken and said, "From the time he
was little, I always figured I could get good money for him when he turned
18. I mean look at his face and his body." I stood a little prouder when I
heard that praise. "But, no, he wasn't gonna let his family have some
comfort and financial security. He said if I tried to indenture him or
started the process he would run away, he would do some serious damage. And
now look at him!"

My father seemed weary as he continued, "Now he's enslaved for five years
because of criminal charges, so the family doesn't get a penny." Then he
opened the top two buttons on his shirt and pulled the fabric aside to
reveal his own slave tattoo on his left pec. "I got one branded on my right
butt cheek as well. I put in my five years straight out of high
school. Worked hard, did whatever a slave had to do to avoid the whip. But
if you saw my back you'd know I didn't always avoid the whip. I was proud
of my sacrifice. It set my parents up for a good retirement. And when I was
freed from indenture I had the money to go to trade school. But this boy
thought he was too good to be a slave. This one was gonna go to college on
a football scholarship."

My middle brother called out, "Da-a-ad, are homos gonna put their peckers
in Russell's mouth and up his butthole?"

Dad grunted and said, "I hope they put a lot of fat ones up in him, teach
him his place as a slaveboy."

At that point, my little brother closed his eyes and sighed softly. I saw a
wet patch appear on the front of his jeans right where his hand had been
moving deep in his pocket.

None of this escaped Bodoni's gaze. He patted my father on the back and
said, "How about I allow you five hand spanks on the slaveboy's bottom."

My father harrumphed and said, "At least let me use a paddle on him."

Bodoni nodded to a guard who handed him a small paddle, which was then
passed on to my dad. My dad is a big powerful man, with a chest and
shoulders broader than mine -- he boasted that his strength and his muscles
came from his time as a slaveboy. He raised his arm up high and swung wide
with the paddle. I hollered a loud, "Owww!" This was followed by four more
swats.

I hadn't been aware of the attention we had drawn. But when my father
finished paddling my exposed ass there were cheers and applause from the
people on the street and other people who were lined up behind the velvet
ropes.

Mr. Bodoni was solicitous to my father. "I hope that got some of the anger
out of your system. Perhaps we can talk man-to-man about ways you could get
some cash. Perhaps you could do a commercial for us talking about the logic
of a family bringing in their son for auction and profiting from the boy's
indenture, rather than risking criminal charges. And perhaps there are
other ways you could profit from your charming family."

Dad looked over at my brothers and said, "The middle one still got three
years till he's legal to be sold. The younger one even longer."

"There may be ways you could still get some payout for this oldest one."
Bodoni's voice got quieter as he said, "And have you heard about the new
laws in Las Vegas and New York? They've lowered the age of indenture to
attract tourists. We have branches in both of those cities. Perhaps you'd
like to bring your boys to my office. We could do a simple pre-assessment."

"Pre-assessment?"

"Check out their muscle development. Get some samples. If we can't milk out
another load from your youngest, maybe we could just take his sperm sample
from the inside of his briefs." The two men chuckled together as they led
my younger brothers away from our display.

I didn't have time to stew over the fact that my family never even told me
goodbye. I couldn't get over imagining my little brothers being stripped
naked in the office of this flagrant homosexual. My father acted so gruff,
but he was always cowed by rich, powerful men, so I knew he wouldn't object
when the slave trader fingered my brothers' virgin teenage butts. I
wondered whether Bodoni or my father would milk each of the boys'
dicks. Then I started to wonder what the tall man had meant about "still
getting some payout from the oldest one."

# # #

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

If you enjoy this story (and ones like it) SUPPORT NIFTY!
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