Istari

Mastering Alex

Chapter 1
Beginnings

Snips and snails, and all that sort of thing. I guess that old bit of wisdom sums up most boys pretty well, but not Alexander. That is not what he is made of. He's a lot more complicated than that. My Alexander is a quiet, gentle boy, thoughtful and polite, prone to solitude and sadness, and, I suppose, he's really not mine. Alex is my younger brother, nearly fifteen years younger. He came along when I was fourteen, an unexpected and not entirely welcome accident on the part of my parents. At first I wasn't thrilled with the prospect of having a little nose-miner following me around through my high-school years, but it turned out, me being so much older, that there was no rivalry between us at all. In fact he worshiped me. He still does, but I guess I'm just now beginning to understand him.

When I was nineteen and Alex was five, our parents where killed on the road. A little too much rain, a little too much darkness. And a little too much alcohol. A propensity which Alex and I have both inherited, I'm sorry to say. When it happened, I had already been out of the house for a couple of years, and headed for a world of trouble. In a flash I was on my own, and poor Alexander was an orphan. I was totally lost for a few years after that, trying to get through college and figure out who I was. Even though Alex was my little buddy, there was no way I could take care of a five-year-old boy. I wish I could have, but it just wasn't going to happen. There were drugs. I can admit that now. Growing up in a house where alcohol was consumed every day had an inevitable influence on the eldest son, and the youngest too, though mom and dad never lived to see it in Alex as they saw it me.

Dad was never mean when he got blasted, I was, and got kicked out of the house at least once a week from the time I was thirteen. I suppose drugs were unavoidable for me, and it started long before we lost our parents. Their sudden absence just made it worse. I wish I could have been stronger back then, gotten my act together sooner, but I was screwed up and selfish, and still a boy myself.

Alex went into foster care right away, and I went on being irresponsible and angry. I was in another state, both physically and mentally, during those next few years, and I only saw him three or four times.

I always noticed the fading bruises on his face, the way he would shake and tremble when I hugged him, the sad look in his hazel eyes (a perfect copy of our mother's). I made inquiries, but I was out of his life, and the concerns of an older brother with a bad reputation didn't carry much weight. It went on that way for three years. I knew he was being abused, but I had no rights and no say in my little brother's wellbeing. I could have taken him at nineteen, but instead I gave him away, choosing my addictions over my own flesh and blood. It was slowly killing me, knowing what was happening to the little guy and being powerless to stop it.

Finally, in my last year of college, I decided to grow up. I realized I had to help myself first, before I could ever help Alex. It was a struggle, and it still is sometimes, but my addictions were behind me when I graduated and I had a great job already lined up. I decided I had to get him back. With the help of an old family friend, who happened to be a lawyer, I became my brother's guardian, and we've been a pair ever since. When we left family court that day four years ago, he looked up at me with wounded eyes, as if to ask 'why didn't you save me sooner?'

"I wish things could have been different, Lexi," I told him as I took his hand. His grip was light and unsure.

"Me too," he said.

Things have been different.

We live in the old house where I grew up, and where Alex was actually born. My career pays me well, and mom and dad left us both a tidy inheritance. Alex can't touch his until he's eighteen, but we are allowed to invest it, and he's going to be a very wealthy young man when the time comes.

I surprised myself that I'm quite a suitable guardian, and taking charge of him just seemed to come naturally. I'm quite strict with him, much more so than mom and dad ever were with either of us, but I want what's best for him, and my expectations are high.

Alex is almost thirteen now, and he means everything to me. I suppose you want to hear what he looks like, and I don't mind describing him. I think I already mentioned that he has our mother's eyes. They're hazel, soft and thoughtful, quite haunting at times. He has her hair too, a chestnut brown which he likes to keep short. His nose is freckled, which he hates, but I find adorable. His skin has that natural tan that just comes to boys who spend a lot of time outdoors, which he loves to do.

He stands almost five feet [1.50 m] tall. He's slender and muscular, a product of the firm regime of weight training I've had him under since he was nine. His balls dropped about six months ago. Alex is one of those lucky boys with a long loose scrotum, so they hang quite low between his slender legs. His voice hasn't started to change yet, at least not noticeably, but it no longer has the high reedy timbre of a little boy. Alex is still hairless, but he's got a nice cock and balls on him. The men in our family have always been big down below, and Alex already has a good soft four inches [10 cm], which gets close to six [15 cm] when he's hard. Unlike me, he's uncut which actually makes it look a little longer.

We're very open, being just us guys, and he doesn't mind me seeing him naked. I'm not shy around him either. I've known I was gay ever since I was Alexander's age, but my attraction has always leaned toward the very young. I don't consider myself exclusively a lover of boys, in fact most of my real-life partners are older, but the attraction has always been there and I've never tried to deny it where Alex is concerned. He knows my love for him goes way beyond that of a mere brother, and he doesn't seem to have a problem with that. Quite the opposite.

I'm already sure the boy is as bent as I am. Rather he was born this way, as I know I was, or if it evolved from his trauma in foster care, I can't say, but I suspect it is a little of both. There are certain elements of his personality that could only come from what those people did to him. For three years Alex was repeatedly raped and beaten by the couple assigned to his care. They were never charged, for the husband was a man of some influence, so I guess they're still out there, doing it all over again to someone else's little brother.

Alex carries those scars inside him all the time, and they rule him in subtle ways. I see them often, though he thinks he keeps them from me. In the middle of a game we're playing, or during a ride in the car, or at night as we wind down and watch television, he'll suddenly seem to just fade away as if he were trying to send his mind someplace else. He cries in his sleep.

There is a weary sadness that is always with him, in his eyes, in his expressions, in his voice, even in his actions. He tries to join his few friends in their rough play, to be brash and bold and reckless, to be all those things a little male is supposed to be, but that sadness drags him down like a great chain around his neck. I've seen it happen more times than I can count. He starts off loud and boisterous, but soon he sags and withers, and his voice goes still. His friends know he's different, and that's why so many just shun him after a while. It's a weight he carries everywhere, a terrible burden for narrow twelve-year- old shoulders to bear.

The psychologists warned me when I first got him back that he was damaged, and he is, profoundly, but slowly we've managed to build a life together. He actually tried calling me dad for a few months, but the memory of our father, one he scarcely even remembers, always settled between us. It never felt comfortable.

I do call him son once in a while, but somehow that's different. Grown men call boys that all the time, and it is a term of affection he's grown to accept. Whenever we're out, strangers ask me if I'm the father of this remarkably polite and thoughtful boy and I never know how to answer. Certainly I'm raising him, but, as I said before, things are different in our house.

Alex is sexually precocious. I suppose that's an inevitable result of the abuse he was exposed to those three years. Even at the age of eight he was a fierce and committed masturbator. I'd hear him in his room at night and on weekend mornings, moaning and gasping in his high-pitched little boy orgasms. He'd make himself cum over and over again, forcing one dry orgasm after another from his eight- year-old body. He'd go until it became painful for him, and then he'd make his body do it again, his orgasmic cries mixed with tears and sobs. I was torn and puzzled by my brother's need for pain, and also very aroused by it. Of course I envisioned him lying there, his slender legs spread wide, his small hand racing up and down his erect penis, his toes curling as the spasms shot through him. My own dick pressed against my pants and we'd soon end up masturbating together, just in separate rooms.

In those early months I did not know what to think, or what to do, about Alexander's heightened sexuality. I love that boy, and I fantasized about him all the time. But he was my brother, and a victim of unspeakable abuse. I couldn't risk adding to his trauma, and more and more I began to worry that I might not be able to help myself. Up until then it had always been look, don't touch, where boys were concerned. Having a boy so close, so alone, so vulnerable, was an almost unbearable torment for me. The fantasies kept getting stronger, and yes, darker. Often I imagined myself as his abuser, plunging my nine-inch [23 cm] cock into his small mouth as copious tears fell from his eyes. That fantasy disturbed me, but it also made me cum harder than I ever had before.

Little did I know, that in the quiet darkness of his room, (the kid almost never turns a light on in there) Alexander was having fantasies to surpass my own.

It went on this way for a year, until I was almost afraid to even hug him for fear I'd rip his clothes off on the spot and fuck his cute little ass right there on the kitchen floor. Alex noticed how I'd seemingly grown colder toward him, and this only increased his frenzied masturbatory habits, and the pervasive sadness that was slowly creeping into every corner of his soul.

One night, three months short of his tenth birthday, he came to me in the darkness. I could see by the dim shadows of the moon that he was naked. We both slept that way, so it was really no surprise. What did surprise me was the fact that he was crying. Since he'd come to live with me he'd never let a single tear fall in my presence. He stood timidly beside my bed, then knelt down so we were eye to eye as I lay there. The sweet soft sound of his weeping tore at my heart.

"Why can't you love me?" he asked. Never had I heard such desperate pain from such a small and innocent voice. Alex was old enough and wise enough to know what I was, and in that moment I suddenly realized how terribly it must hurt him, whenever my eyes wandered over the slender frame of a handsome young boy, yet always turned away from him.

"I just don't want to hurt you," I remember saying. And that was the truth.

His response was barely a whisper, and for the longest time I convinced myself he'd never said it. "Maybe I want you to."

I pulled back the covers and Alex crawled in beside me. He was hard. He trembled as I held him and rubbed my hands up and down his back. He seemed so small, so fragile, this naked boy pressing against me for warmth and comfort. I kissed him softly on the cheek and promised I would love him forever.

Alex sleeps with me now, almost every night, and my darkest fantasies, his deepest needs, are slowly coming into the light. You see, when I made that promise I had no idea what loving a boy like Alexander would really mean.

Chapter 2
Golden Sunlight

As had become our ritual, Alex was hungrily devouring my morning erection. He could only take about four inches [10 cm] of me down his throat, but he never stopped trying for more. His mouth was warm, and his soft lips felt like velvet against my cock. The boy was a natural cocksucker, and for nearly a year now I would awaken each morning to this wonderful sensation. There's nothing in the world quite so gratifying as a young boy sucking your dick. The first few times I pretended to remain asleep, but now I no longer bothered with such pretense. Some part of him needed to do this, and he needed me awake.

I placed my hand behind his head and gently stroked his hair, gradually pressing him deeper and deeper onto my shaft. Alex gagged for a moment and I pulled him back, not wanting to choke him, no, not yet. He moved closer to me, folding up his beautiful legs as the morning sun warmed them. Again I saw my cock disappear into his mouth, his head bobbing up and down in a slow, well-practiced motion. Lust eventually consumed me, as it always did, and I grabbed hold of him with both hands and began to thrust, roughly fucking my boy's mouth for a good ten minutes as he lay limp and motionless between my legs. I pushed him away harshly just as I came, splashing my cum all over his face and hair.

Ignoring the spunk dripping into his eyes, he dutifully lapped his tongue over my cock, cleaning the last of my seed with short tickling motions. When he'd finished, I drew the boy close and kissed him hard on the lips.

"Your face is a mess," I said as I rubbed my spent cum deeper into his hair. "Go get a shower. Breakfast in ten."

With a satisfied smile he wiped away the semen that had rolled down over his lips. A dribble of it still hung from his chin. Alex didn't say a word but obediently went of to the bathroom, giving me a nice long look at his perky little ass. The boy liked it best when I gave the orders.

He was on time to the kitchen as always, clean and sparkling. His hair was still wet, but neatly combed. The ring in his left ear shimmered in the morning light. He was wearing a black tank top and an old pair of cut-off jeans that hugged him just tight enough to show off his boyish shape, not to mention the nice bulge between his legs. His socks were white, of course, and pushed down to his ankles. His black high-tops finished the ensemble of an twelve-year- old boy ready for the day's business.

It was Saturday, which for me meant a relaxing day on the porch, sipping a few glasses of wine to pass the time. For young Alexander it meant work around the yard under my watchful eyes. We still live in our parents' home, an old stone farmhouse. We've got about ten acres of field and wood with mountains all around in the distance. My folks never farmed a day in their lives and neither do we, it is just a nice private setting in the country, and Alex and I have come to enjoy the benefits of not having nosey neighbors dropping by uninvited.

Most of the original farm equipment and buildings are long gone, but there is the old barn. Mom and dad pretty much let it go, but I'm fixing it up to keep the place from looking too run down.

Alex ate his cereal and downed his juice in a few man- sized gulps, then rested his hazel eyes on me awaiting his list of weekend chores. I usually work him from morning to dinnertime on Saturdays, unless he has plans with friends, which, as I've said, he sadly has very few.

"Cut the grass, trim the hedges, then clean out the back stalls in the barn today. Think you can get all that done before dinner?"

"I'll try, Steve," he said as he cleared away the dishes without being asked. Today's was a big assignment, but there was never an argument from him. Keeping our parents' house in the family was a promise we'd both made to each other last year. It's a lot of work for just two people, especially when one is just a kid. I do all the major stuff, but the yard and the old barn are Alexander's responsibility and I don't cut him much slack. Before he went out the door I took him by the arm and pulled him close. A little kiss on his forehead and the boy was on his way.

By lunchtime the day was sweltering and humid, and Alex had gotten rid of his shirt. I watched him with the mower as his lithe slender body strained and stretched. The sun glistened off his bare shoulders. Alex is a beautiful boy, and the hard work and the weights we lift have shaped him up nicely. Not many twelve-year-olds' can boast abdominal ridges, but Alex has them, still vaguely defined of course, but they're there if you take the time to appreciate him, and very sexy.

I fed him his lunch on the porch. He sat cross-legged on the floor, his plate balanced precariously on his lap. He was dirty and sweaty, and I could smell him. The sweet but unmistakably masculine scent of boy was intoxicating. He eyed my beer with a wanting expression as he stuffed another handful of chips into his mouth.

I poured several sips into a plastic cup. He looked at me as if I'd just shot the family dog, not that we have one.

"That all?" he asked.

"Remember last month when you raided the liquor cabinet?"

I'd been out for the evening and came home to find him sprawled out naked on the living room floor with a half- empty bottle beside him. He slurred some incoherent greeting in my general direction and proceeded to piss all over the rug.

Alex giggled, but straightened up when he saw I wasn't laughing along with him. Seeing him drunk was just a pathetic sight, one I would not allow to be repeated. Giving the boy just those few sips really rubbed me the wrong way, but it would keep him from sneaking it behind my back.

"The rug still smells," I told him, "and I don't feel like cleaning up after you again. Grow some hair on your balls, then, maybe, I'll let you share a bottle with me."

Alex squeezed the boyish bulge in his shorts and rolled his eyes.

"Think I'll get some soon?" he asked hopefully.

"Probably," I replied, studying his developing young body in the midday heat. I figured it was just a few months before he started to sprout. "Too bad though. I happen to like you smooth."

"You could always shave me," he said with a wicked smile. I got the impression he was serious.

"Let's wait and see. A little hair on a boy can be sexy too."

Alex adopted a thoughtful expression. "Am I? Sexy."

"You're attractive, if that's what you mean. You've seen how people look at you. Men and women both, and other kids too."

"What do you like best about me?" he asked, his voice somewhere between devil and innocent.

I loved everything about him of course, but my eyes fell the nice and not so little package that filled his shorts. "I think you know the answer to that, grasshopper."

The boy smiled knowingly, and dove back into his lunch. When the bottomless pit had snarfed his last hot dog, I sent him out the barn to finish up for the afternoon. I heard him clattering around in there for a while as I swept off the porch, but then it suddenly fell silent. After a few minutes I began to get concerned. Hoping he'd just decided to take a nap, but fearing he might have hurt himself, I made my way into the barn.

The afternoon sun was peaking through the holes in the slats, and even though it hadn't housed any animals in decades, the musty odor was still there. I guess it mostly just smelled old. Everything was quiet inside, but as I approached the farthest stall, I heard a soft moan followed by a series of desperate frustrated grunts. The voice was high, and I knew I'd found my boy. I had a pretty good idea what he was up to.

I peered round the stall slowly, and there he was.

Alex was lying on the dirt floor, his shorts crumpled around his ankles, his knees drawn up. His right hand was on his young cock, which was standing proudly erect. Swift long angry strokes by its owner's hand battered it. After every forth or fifth stroke he'd stop and give his hairless balls a good slap. They were already a dark shade of red from his efforts. His left hand was equally busy. His index finger was pushing hard against his boy-hole. Alex shuddered and grunted every time it went in. He had an iron bit in his mouth, buckled around his head by ridiculously long leather straps meant for horses, not boys. He must have found his new toy among the forgotten tools in the loft above. I gazed at this soon to be twelve-year-old boy, methodically fucking himself like a horny little animal, torturing himself, I realized, as he swatted his maturing testicles again. The sounds he was making were coming from deep inside and soon they were mixed with heaving sobs of anguish and pain.

Of course I had two choices. I could walk away and pretend I hadn't seen anything. Or I could stop him. Another blow to his poor nuts, this time with his clenched fist, made it an easy decision.

"Alexander!" I shouted, before he could hurt himself again.

Stunned, the boy looked up at me with wide eyes. Horror and shame filled them when he realized he'd been caught, and he just sat there sobbing uncontrollably. I knelt beside him and cradled him gently in my arms. Carefully I unbuckled the straps and took the bit from his mouth. He'd bitten down so hard his tongue was bleeding. His eyes wouldn't focus, and finally I had to shake him, then slap him, hard, to bring him around.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he cried, over and over. He tried to get up and run away, but I held him down, even as he struggled. It wasn't long before the fight went out of him. I slid his shorts off him the rest of the way, then carefully helped him to his feet. His balls were already returning to their healthy boyish pink, but they were swollen and looked very sore. He was still hard, and I could see pre-cum glistening on the end of his cock.

I said nothing as I walked him back to the house and laid him down on the couch in the living room. He closed his beautiful eyes and pressed his spinning head into one of the pillows. I was back a moment later with a two cool moist towels. The first I placed in his hand.

"Put this between your legs. Don't squeeze anything."

Alex sighed at the cooling touch to his burning balls.

With the other towel I gently wiped his face. I sat with him for nearly an hour, soothing him, wiping his forehead, just holding his hand. Finally he calmed down. Time for answers.

"Why?" I asked softly.

His eyes danced and his young face was clouded by shame once more. "I'm bad," he said in a small tearful voice. "Bad boys have to be punished. Don't they?"

"Yes, they do," I agreed. "But what makes you think you're bad?"

"This does," the boy said, looking down at his four-inch [10 cm] cock now lying soft against his tortured balls. "It's always getting hard."

"Nothing bad about that, Alex. You look nice with a boner."

He stared at me with his sad eyes, then turned his face away. "I'm always touching it. I try not to, but I can't help it. Boys aren't supposed to touch themselves down there."

Alex said it with such earnestness, such certain conviction, that at first I didn't know quite how to react.

"Who told you that?" I finally asked. The dark cloud of pain and memory that washed over him in that moment served as my answer. His abusers were still abusing him, even four years later. "I see. Were you punished, when you touched it?"

The boy nodded gently and closed his eyes.

I'd known for years that he caused himself pain, sometimes sexual, sometimes just every day stuff, but this was the first time he seemed intent on really damaging himself. That scared the hell out of me, but it also got me very, very hard. Something clicked inside, and it would change us both forever.

"And now you punish yourself."

Again poor Alexander nodded miserably, and his young voice crackled with emotion. "It just makes me harder now. No matter what I do it just keeps sticking up."

"Do you cum, when you hurt yourself?"

"Sometimes," the boy said guiltily. "Not every time." Alex sat up now and swung his feet onto the floor. Like most boys his age, they seemed a few sizes too big for the rest of his body. I thought they were adorable.

He bent over and held his head in his hands. "God, I'm so messed up."

"No, you're not," I said gently, standing over him. Suddenly he seemed so small and fragile, so lost, so young, which of course he was. "You're different. There is a name for what you are, you know. For people who need pain."

"Freak, right?" he asked with rueful irony.

I smiled softly as our eyes met. "No. Masochist."

He looked at me in puzzlement. Obviously the boy had never heard the word before, and until now it never occurred to me that it might actually suit him. I'd always figured that was an adult sort of thing, but why should it be? I knew I was gay, and that I loved boys, when I was still just a boy myself. If a boy can be a boylover, why can't he be a masochist, or anything else his heart and soul desire?

"What's that mean?" Alexander asked, still certain that if it applied to him it must be something bad.

"It's someone who gets off on feeling pain. Someone who likes to hurt himself, or have other people hurt him. That describes you pretty well, doesn't it?"

Alex did not hesitate. "Yes."

"Then let me hear you say it."

"Masochist." It was a strange word to hear from a twelve-year-old's mouth, but it seemed to be a comfort to him, as did the knowledge that he was not alone, and that I finally knew his darkest secret. His beautiful hazel eyes swam with tears as he gazed up at me. "Will you punish me from now on?"

"When you need it."

It was easy to give him the answer he wanted, but I knew the reality was going to be a lot harder. Raising a younger brother was difficult enough. Raising a child masochist was more than I knew how to do. But for Alex I would learn. I drew him to his feet and held him in my arms. The boy's slender legs were wobbly and shaking. "But right now I think you need something else."

Alexander nodded softly and pressed his head to my chest.

"No more tears now," I said, and led him off to the bed we shared.

Chapter 3
Transformations

"You shouldn't ask me that," I replied, tenderly stroking his hair and kissing his neck. We enjoyed our intimacy, the warmth of our shared bed, our nude bodies pressed together. His skin was smooth and silken, and his freshly washed hair smelled faintly of strawberries. His urgent demand to have this ultimate act of possession performed upon him made everything seem suddenly harder and colder.

I'd fantasized about getting Alexander's ass since the first day I brought him back home. He has a great little rear-end, two pale perfect round globes of smooth unblemished boyflesh. I gently rubbed them now as he lay with his back to me.

"Please, Steve," he whispered desperately. He was trembling. "I've had it before."

"I know you have," I said with deep regret. I love the thought of hard sex with boys, but no little five-year-old deserves to have his cherry popped before he even knows what it's all about, or what those funny things between his legs are for. I was twelve when a man took mine, and I still remember the thrill of knowing what was coming, feeling that man inside me, filling my young body until I could take no more. It was exhilarating and wonderful and I shot my first load of sperm that very day. How must it have been for Alex? He was just a baby when his virginity was stolen. It was confusion, and shame, and pain, and nothing more.

"I know you have," I said again. "And that's why I can't."

He rolled over and looked me in the eye.

"That's why you have to. He hated me. You love me. You can make it a good thing, instead of a bad one." Alex has always been a serious boy, but this time there was a maturity in his expression, and a certainty in his voice that I had never noticed before. My little brother, my sweet Alexander, knew what he wanted and why he needed it.

Strangely, I never actually said I would. We simply gazed at one another for a moment, as the evening slowly wore on, and we both knew this would be the night that changed things forever.

I put him on his back and propped his head up with the pillows. Then I slowly jerked him off, making sure not to let him cum. Three times I brought him to the edge as he lay there moaning and squirming. His shaft was throbbing madly, the head a swollen shining purple crown.

Taking a slender ankle in each hand, I folded his legs up to his chest and he held them there without being told. I gave him an encouraging smile and studied his cute little hole. It was pink and hairless and very clean. I pressed a finger to his opening. Alex relaxed his muscle and my invading probe slid easily inside the boy. He gave a little gasp, then gazed at me with dreamy eyes. He was warm and wet inside, and just a little tight. I took my time exploring him with that single finger, occasionally brushing against his immature prostate. He squealed a bit each time I touched his little joy button, and he licked his tongue over his lips.

After I'd loosened him, and gotten his juices started, I added a second finger, stretching his little ring as it clenched around the twin invaders. A deep groan issued from his throat as I rolled my fingers around inside him. The boy's erection was straining now, and I saw a few drops of pre-cum glistening on the tip. I must have spent the next half-hour fingering him. By the end his little cunt was moist and soft, and a constant stream of prostatic fluid was dribbling from his young cock. All the while I was impossibly hard, fighting my urge to open him forcefully.

"I'm going to take you now," I said.

My twelve-year-old was panting, but he eyed me with desperate need, and just a little fear.

Placing my hands on the back of his knees, to help him stay in position, I then began a slow, leisurely penetration. Alex wiggled and squirmed as my nine inches [23 cm] gradually impaled him. He was trying to get more of me inside him, clenching his hungry little hole around my cock.

"Do it harder," the boy whispered in a far away voice. His eyes were tightly closed as pain and pleasure surged through his slender frame.

Alex was too young to know that a good slow relentless fuck is what a boy really needs. I was about to educate him. It took a lot of effort not to cum in those first few minutes. The boy's ass was so warm and so tight. Watching my cock disappear inside his slender body, spread submissively for my pleasure, was almost more than I could bear. But I was going take him. Possess him. Own him. After tonight he would never think of that old bastard again when he had a dick up his ass. With each steady, forceful thrust, I made him take a little more of me, and in so doing I took a little more of him. Slowly I increased the rhythm, pounding his hairless ass.

He was sweating and panting now, making strange animalistic cries deep in his throat. Pain wracked the boy's sweet face as he writhed and struggled, and yet his young cock was as hard as ever.

"I'm hurting you," I said as I pulled out all the way and rammed myself back in. It was not a question, but a fact.

"Unnnggh!!" he cried. "Yes, yes." His voice was a barely audible squawk.

Watching a pre-teen boy endure an anal orgasm is a terribly gratifying experience. Alexander's lasted for a good ten minutes as I brutally fucked him. The kid was hysterical, clawing at the mattress, rolling his head from side to side, drooling like a little madman. His cock stood straight and hard, but he could not cum. More than once he reached for his dick, only to have me smack his hands away.

"Never touch yourself when I'm fucking you," I hissed.

Alexander was weeping now, his voice long since spent. Soft cries and whimpers where all he could manage as I neared my climax. With a final series of vicious thrusts I came inside my boy, my gentle Alexander. His weeping turned to fitful sobs as I slowly pulled out of his ruined hole. The dark thought of making him suck me clean entered my head for a moment, but this I could not ask of him. He had already given me the last full measure any boy can give.

I collapsed beside him and showered him with tender kisses. He buried himself in my arms and cried himself out.

"Are you alright?" I asked him softly.

"Yes, sir," he replied.

Somehow his answer seemed fitting. With a single finger I pressed once more against his battered rectum. Alex shivered and whined plaintively as it went in.

"Who does this belong to?" I asked.

"You, sir," came the boy's instant response.

"And this little thing?" I demanded as I stroked his cock to a new erection.

"You, sir," Alex said humbly. I was starting to like being called sir.

Next I grabbed his balls harshly in my hands, squeezing them just enough to make him moan.

"And these?"

"You, sir," the boy was repeating it now like a catechism.

I pulled him close and we snuggled together in silence. It was well past midnight now. A new day had come, in so many ways. Every so often as we lay there he would shed a few more tears, but he sighed softly as his head fell upon my chest. I stroked his hair and ran my fingers playfully over his ear.

"It's good now," he said, his voice still weak and shaking. "I love you."

I just kissed him again in answer.

Another quiet hour had passed, but we were both still awake. Something unspoken lay between us and I knew neither of us would sleep until we brought it out in the open. I sat him up at the head of the bed, pillows all around him. He gracefully crossed his legs. I did the same, and there we were eye to eye, naked and exhausted.

"Honest time now, Alex," I said, and I laid a hand across his thigh. Smooth and silken and boyishly muscular. "You and I just did something we can never take back."

"I know."

"Then the question is where do we go now?"

Alex thought about that for a long time, and I could see in his face that he had an answer. "Where 3; where do you think we should go?"

I shook my head. "I'm not going to make this easy on you. I asked you an important question, and I expect an answer. Tell me what's inside, Alexander. Tell me what your heart says."

He cast his eyes down. "I 3; "

I reached out gently and lifted his chin. "Look at me. What does it say?"

Alex nodded slowly and sat up a little taller. "It says I belong to you."

I took both of his hands into my own. What followed, I thought, was the hardest question of all. "What do you call a person who belongs to someone else?"

His eyes danced, and he fought a slight shiver as the answer came to him. "You call that person a slave."

There it was. It was out. And now we'd have to deal with it.

"Is that what you want to be?" I asked.

I suppose it was yet too difficult for him to say the word again, but he nodded his head slowly and emphatically. I wasn't convinced a boy so young could now what it really meant, or what the consequences would be.

"Let me explain something to you, Alex. Don't say anything until I'm finished. If we do this, it's for real. It's not a game we'll play in bed for a few hours each night. It's real life. I don't know much about it, but I do know it is not something you just turn on and turn off whenever you feel like it. Does that make sense?"

Twelve-year-old Alexander nodded again.

I got up from the bed and stood beside it. I gestured him to do the same. My strong, slender, naked boy stood bravely before me.

"Kneel," I said in a soft whisper.

Alex dropped to his knees instantly and looked up at me with wonder in his eyes.

"I want to hear you tell me what you want."

Alex swallowed hard and somehow said the words. Even understanding who he was, and what he needed, I knew it had to be very difficult for him.

"I want to be a slave."

Never had I been so proud of him.

"Stand up."

He obeyed.

"This is a big decision," I said, "and I don't expect you keep your word right now. I want you to sleep in your own bed tonight. You need to think hard about this. Be honest with yourself. I can't do that for you. Tomorrow morning you can tell me again, if that's what you really want."

Alex seemed relieved. Things were apparently moving a little too fast for him. He hugged me, and thanked me, then walked off to his room, which he rarely slept in. His steps were ginger and awkward, his body still reeling from the merciless fucking I'd given him hours before.

"Alex," I said to him just as he was getting into the hallway.

My naked boy turned and looked at me.

"No matter what you decide, I will always protect you, and I will always love you. Nothing will change that."

He smiled softly and disappeared into the darkness.

Chapter 4
All Things Considered

Alexander's door was halfway open, and I quietly peered inside. The shades were still up and I could see dawn arriving on the world outside. Alex lay in his bed, wrapped tightly in his blankets. One hand lay upon the pillow near his head. I could see his face from where I stood. It was contented and peaceful. Is there anything more innocent than a young boy sleeping? I felt such love for him, and such uncertainty at this road we had started on. He stirred softly, but did not wake up. Quietly I closed the door around and left him to sleep. As I walked toward my office at the end of the hall, I wondered what his decision would be.

I'm a freelance writer, which lets me work from home most of the time. Certainly Alex was old enough to look after himself now, but in those early months after his return home I was glad I was there for him. I pulled up the shades and turned on the computer. My latest was a science fiction story, my first attempt at a full-length novel. I'd been mired lately, having written myself into several corners simultaneously. I stared hopelessly at the words on the screen. Hours always seemed to pass without my knowledge when I was in here, and it was well past ten when I heard the soft sound of bare feet on the floor behind me.

My boy greeted me with a warm smile. He was in one of my old t-shirts, which he often wore around the house in the mornings, and nothing else. It was gray in color and quite large for him, more than long enough to cover his boyhood. His beautiful legs though were still there for me to see. I reached out my hand and he stepped into my embrace as my arm went round his waist.

"How's my little man this morning?" I asked.

"I'm fine," he said as he excepted my kiss upon his lips. "My ass feels like totally empty."

"What do you expect after you swallow the snake?"

He laughed, then yawned and stretched his arms above his head. "You made me feel so good last night."

"Even when I hurt you?"

"That was the best part." His face lit up in a smile, but his eyes were deep and serious.

I gave him a playful smack on his rear end. Alex then glanced at the screen for a moment. Nothing had changed since the last time he'd read this particular section.

"Still stuck?" he asked.

"Yep."

Alex had a particular interest in this story. He loved science fiction, and the main character was a boy his own age, who not coincidentally looked an awful lot like him. Cyrix was his name, a space-born lad on a voyage with his father, an unscrupulous freighter captain. Alexander read the last passage again. The ship had just been attacked by Confederate forces, and I really had no idea where I wanted the story to go from there.

Alex looked back at me with playful eyes. "I've got an idea. Can I?"

"Sure," I said. What did I have to lose?

The boy hunted and pecked his way across the keyboard and managed to churn out three full paragraphs in about half an hour. I read along, when he let me that is, but he did his best to block my view of the screen. Finally he surrendered my chair and turned to me with hopeful eyes. I carefully read the boy's efforts and was impressed by what he'd written. It was simple and direct, and it also carried an unmistakable message.

"You've made Cyrix a slave," I said, understanding it was no coincidence. He stood silently watching me.

"Is that your decision too?"

"Yes, sir."

I took a deep breath and stared again at the screen.

"What's wrong?" he asked innocently, concern clouding his unbroken voice.

My expression was serious when I turned to face him again. "This is big, Alex. Honestly I don't what I'm supposed to do now. We both have a lot to learn, if we're going to be master and slave."

It was the first time I'd actually used that word, 'master', and it hung between us like an ominous cloud. It was a powerful word, and it had a weight and substance to it that made Alexander shrink and shiver the moment it was spoken.

"You're much too young. How far am I supposed to push you?" I asked. "How much is too much?"

He hugged me fiercely. "I trust you, Steve," was all he said.

"And I don't ever want to lose that. We have to do this carefully. We have to do it right. I've got a friend who might help us. You remember Robert, don't you."

Alex nodded instantly and smiled. Robert was my dad's old friend, and the lawyer who got Alex back for me. He also had a lot to do with breaking my addictions, in a rather brutal but effective way.

"Robert's cool," the boy said, never forgetting the debt we owed him, "and really nice."

Obviously there were other things about Robert that young Alexander hadn't figured out just yet.

"He won't be very nice to you from now on, do you understand what I mean?"

The boy's eyes grew wide, but there was that knowing smile again.

"Yes, I do, sir."

"I need to make a phone call, but we might as well get started. Go take a shower, then get dressed." The vision came to me clear and unambiguous, and I spelled it out for him. "Put on your black tank top from yesterday, and a jockstrap. Wear white socks and your high-tops. Nothing else. When you're done, go down to the kitchen. If I'm not there, wait for me."

I could practically see his young heart skip a beat, but he hid is giddy mix of fear and excitement very well. "Yes, sir," he said and he scurried off to the bathroom.

In the meantime, I made my phone call. Robert and dad had been friends since childhood, and I'd known him all of my life. I remember being fascinated and just a little frightened of him as a boy. He was quite a bit larger than my father, and had a quiet strength about him that always made him seem much older and wiser than anyone else I knew. He was the first person I came out to when I was thirteen, and he was the one who made me tell my mom and dad. We've never had a truly sexual relationship, but I had spent a few months with him while I was drying out, so I knew quite well the sinister contents of his basement.

Of course, with the way fate intervened, he never really knew Alex when he was younger. He's come to visit on a rare occasion, and Alexander's reaction to him is much like mine was fourteen years ago. Robert is just a larger than life figure, and makes an indelible impression on a young boy. He was soon going to make an even deeper impression on Alex. While quiet and dignified, Robert made no secret about his alternative lifestyle, and I knew he was just the right person to help us, and also the only one I could trust.

Alexander's name did not come up in our conversation that morning, and Robert was clever enough not to ask, although I'm sure he suspected, knowing me as well as he did. He told me to come over as soon as I got Alex situated for the day. His meaning was quite clear, and it did set me thinking. I couldn't just leave the boy in limbo while I made the two-hour-long trip, both ways. He'd need to be given an assignment. Something physical to keep him occupied, and then something creative to make him think. I walked down the stairs formulating my plan and found him waiting for me in the kitchen.

His back was to me as I entered and I paused to admire his little bare butt. Hearing me approach, he started turning round to face me. I gave him a good hard swat on his ass.

"Did I tell you to turn around?"

Momentarily stunned by the stinging in his rear, the boy didn't answer right away.

"Answer me when I ask you a question," I said. My voice was soft, but my hand against his behind was firm as I delivered another swat. "Did I tell you to turn around?"

"No, sir," he said with a slight tremble in his voice.

I patted him on the head and took a seat at the table.

"Stand in front of me," I ordered. Quickly he marched forward. Twelve-year-old Alex was adorable and sexy in his tank top and jockstrap. His white socks and shoes accented his shapely calves and thighs. I ran my hand under his shirt, caressing his chest and twirling my fingers over his little nipples. He sighed in pleasure and moved a little closer to me. Continuing to massage his chest, I cupped his boyhood in my other hand, then ran down his firm hairless legs.

Leaving him hard and frustrated, I got his breakfast for him and made him eat it standing up.

"From now on," I explained, "you only sit with my permission."

This new regime seemed to give him a thrill as I could see his young boycock straining within the tight confines of the strap.

"I'm going to see Robert about you today," I told him, "about us. While I'm gone you've got some things to do. Clean the house for starters. That's going to be your job from now on. Everything should be spotless when I get back. You know where all the cleaning stuff is?"

He nodded. "Yes, sir."

"This is your work uniform," I said as I pulled one of the bands on his jockstrap and let it snap back against his tender skin. "Indoors and out, you'll wear it whenever you're working. That goes for homework too."

Alex looked down at himself and squeezed his crotch with his left hand.

"Horny?" I asked.

"Yes, sir, I am. Very."

"Tough luck. I don't want you touching yourself. You're on your honor for that one. Promise me."

"I promise."

"Good boy. Now, when you're finished with the house, I want you to come back here to the kitchen and do some writing for me. First, you're going to write me an essay. Tell me what makes a person a slave, and why you want to be one. Second, I want you to write down ten rules for yourself. Things you'll be allowed to do, and things you won't. Really think about this. When I get back we'll talk about them. Is everything clear? Any questions?"

"A few, sir," the boy said quietly.

"Go ahead."

"Am I allowed to fix lunch for myself?" Alex asked.

"That's fine. No junk food though. What else?"

"Can I use the bathroom?"

I was surprised that he was astute enough to ask. I was sort of flying blind here, but slowly a consistent plan for his basic treatment was forming itself. "From now on you will have to ask permission. If I'm not here, can you ask me?"

"No, sir," the boy replied, suddenly realizing where this was going.

"So, answer your own question."

"I have to hold it."

"Correct."

Then I pulled him close and whispered in his ear. "If it's really an emergency, you can go, but try to control yourself."

With that I got to my feet and walked him with me to the door. "Be good, and be careful," I warned him. "I've got my cell phone on if you need me. Now, get to work." I kissed him and sent him off. My Alexander. My boy. My slave.

Chapter 5
Robert and Michael

Michael bowed humbly, but gracefully, and escorted me into the living room. It had been a few months since I'd been in for a visit, and Robert seemed equally glad to see me.

"Come in, Steven," he said in his dark, slightly menacing voice. He was a true master, and I naturally did as I was instructed. "You've been such a stranger lately."

We shook hands and he gestured me to the comfortable sofa. Michael was gone and back again with drinks for both of us before I'd even missed him. The young slave then stood silently beside his master, his eyes cast down and his hands behind his back.

"Michael is looking well," I offered as I took my first sip.

Robert indolently patted the boy on the thigh. "Yes, he is a fine young piece of meat, isn't he?"

I nodded and toasted my glass to the young slave. He gazed up for just an instant and smiled.

"So, Steven, tell me about this new slave of yours. I would not have thought you were the type to take one."

I shrugged my shoulders. I'd played around a bit in the scene, but Robert knew my orientation was toward the very young, and that boys had always been the quiet focus of my desires. You don't generally find twelve-year-olds in slave collars.

"It certainly didn't start out that way," I confessed, "but that's where we are now. We both need to do this. Him especially."

"How old is he?"

In my heart I was certain that Robert already knew the answer. He wouldn't have bothered to ask otherwise. I did my best to look him in the eye, but found it harder than I thought. "He'll be thirteen in two months."

Robert eyed me darkly for a moment, but then a soft smile came to his lips. "So it's Alex."

"Yes."

"I had him figured all along. I know a slave when I see one, even if he's still a child."

"Took me a while to figure it out," I said.

"Naturally. You're his only family. That does make it harder to see, and harder to do something about. He is terribly young still."

"I know that, Robert," I replied, somewhat defensively. "But he knows what he wants, and he knows what he needs. He's already hurting himself. If I don't help him, he'll try to find it someplace else. I can't let him do that. I've worked too hard to undo all that damage. This is what comes next."

"I'm not judging you, Steven," he said. His eyes were gentle. "Michael here was not exactly legal when we started, were you, slave?"

"No, master," the young man replied quietly, not raising his head. His voice was soft and respectful and still rang with the lightness of youth.

"Tell me," Robert continued, "does Alex ejaculate?"

"He does."

"Well then I suppose he's old enough for just about anything. Still I'd take it slow for a start."

"So, you think we should keep going?"

"He's your responsibility, not mine. You know him better than anyone. Is he ready?"

I was silent.

"Answer my question," Robert said sternly. "Is that boy a slave or isn't he?"

"He is."

"And can you be his master?"

"I can."

"Then yes, you should keep going. If you don't train him, who will?"

"Will you help us?" I asked.

Another of his soft, masterful smiles followed. "I will. But a new slave should only have one master, particularly when he's so young. Michael and I will both help with his training, but you must make it clear to him, at all times, that he is your slave, not ours. Do you understand the difference?"

"I do."

"Very well," Robert said. He lost himself in thought for a moment. Finally his dark eyes rested on me decisively. "I'll want to see Alex for myself, before we go any further. Shall we say tomorrow afternoon?"

It was a polite question, but somehow it also seemed to be a command.

"I'll have him with me," I said.

"Excellent. We'll get his measurements while he's here. I'm assuming you'll be needing some gear for him, and the proper equipment."

I nodded. "I'm not quite sure where to start, or what to start with."

He smiled thoughtfully. "Just the basics will do for now. Collar, cuffs, harness. Actually you could get just about everything you need from commercial sources. A small- sized man isn't much bigger than your average twelve-year- old, a bit thicker in the chest and legs maybe, but I still believe a custom fit is best. You'll want his movement restricted, I suppose."

"Certainly."

"Do you intend to keep him in a chastity device?"

That went without saying. "Absolutely. Alex has a problem with touching himself."

"We'll see that habit broken very quickly. Michael here couldn't stop either, until I took control of his cock. When was the last time you touched your penis, Mikey?" Robert asked.

The young slave looked up and spoke in his soft, but confident voice. "Three years, master," he said. I was stunned.

"And the last time I allowed you to become fully erect?"

"Two months, sir."

"Your last orgasm?"

"The same, sir."

I stared at the boy in shock. Such a beautiful, smooth, masculine specimen he was, and still quite young himself. Robert laughed gently and patted Michael on the thigh.

"I milk him dry once a week. Keeps him docile. He doesn't even get hard when I do it. I'll suggest the same routine for young Alexander. Tell me, have you fucked the boy yet?"

"Just last night, for the first time."

"So you've taken him already, excellent. Do you have a plug in him?"

"No."

Robert waved his finger at me in admonishment. "Shame on you. No matter his age, once you've taken a boy's ass, he needs something inside him all the time. Michael, go fetch Master Steven a butt-plug right away."

The handsome young slave bowed his head and gracefully strode off. Robert called after him. "And remember he's only twelve years old. Make your selection appropriate."

Robert then turned to me. "I believe in absolute control, Steven," he explained, "and I expect Michael to show total obedience. The boy does nothing without my permission. I am, I think, unusually strict with him. If you wish to be more lenient with Alex, until he is older, I will understand, but all children need discipline as you well know, and a child slave needs more than most. Alex is a child, and he will make childish mistakes. Michael certainly did, and he already had hair on his balls when I took him in. I learned to be patient with him, and you'll agree the results, thus far, are quite impressive."

Michael was impressive, and fully and happily committed to a life of servitude. I wanted that same happiness for Alex.

"Last night," I said, "it was the first time I've ever done it with a boy. But it wasn't the first time he'd been done. You know he was abused."

"Indeed, I remember. That does make it more difficult. How much of this is the abuse, and how much of it is Alexander?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. I don't know where the abuse ends and he begins."

"He needs you to help him figure that out."

Robert rose from his chair and I joined him. He took my hands, his grip firm but supportive.

"I've known you since you popped out of your mother," he said, such was his way with words. "In fact I was there. I was the first person to hold you, after your parents. Did you know that?"

"No," I smiled.

"You will always be a son to me. Alex, on the other hand, I hardly know at all. You may find that I can see him more clearly than you do. He is an object, as far as I am concerned. I will treat him as such. Do not hate me for doing so."

"And how should I treat him?"

"Just as your heart tells you." He looked me deeply in the eye. "There is a fine master inside, I've caught glimpses of it before. Dominance is in your nature. I will help you find it. I believe you'll be a master of a gentler kind than I am, but strength comes in many forms. You must be strong for him. But never forget his age, Steven. You must master him, but you must also still raise him. Not an easy task, I think."

Michael returned bearing a small metallic butt-plug upon a velvet cloth. It was only about an inch-and-a-quarter [3 cm] in diameter at its widest, nothing to cause a young boy too much distress. Robert approved instantly.

"This should fit the little man quite snuggly. See that he is wearing it when you bring him tomorrow. Don't disappoint me, Steven," were his last words as Michael showed me to the door. Alexander's plug sat wrapped in velvet on the seat beside me as I drove home.

Chapter 6
Preparations

What frightened and troubled me most was that our relationship would have to undergo some dramatic changes. Or would it? In a matter of minutes I glanced back over the last three years of our lives, and I realized that at some basic level Alex was already a slave. He'd always been one. When did a day go by that I didn't give him some kind of order? And when did he ever complain or mope or disobey me? Never. The boy was happiest when he was doing things for me, and not just where sex was concerned. That was important, at least to me. We couldn't have sex all the time, and I began to enjoy the thought that Alex would be my slave in all things, in all places, in every second of every day.

I would still love him and nurture him, but I suppose even that would take on a new dimension now. Nothing we did would ever be between equals, it never really had been, and that was a thrilling and wonderful discovery.

I stopped to get a pizza for us on the way and pulled back into the drive by early evening. There were no lights on in the house that I could see.

Alex was still in the kitchen when I walked in, slumped over the table asleep. I put the pizza on the counter and approached him slowly. He was breathing softly, his pencil still resting lightly in his left hand. In front of him was a neat stack of paper written in his youthful script. Next to this was a single page, printed in neat letters.

'My slave rules' it began.

I didn't take the time to look at it. It was something he would share with me. I nudged him gently. Alex moaned and took a sharp breath, then opened his beautiful eyes.

"Sorry I was away so long, Alex," I said as I tousled his hair. "How was your day?"

"Alright," the boy replied as he stretched his bare arms behind his head. He then looked at me with needy eyes. "Can I please go to the bathroom?"

"I don't know, can you?" I said smartly.

Alex rolled his eyes. "May I," he emphasized the word, "please go to the bathroom?"

"Of course. Hurry back. We have a lot to talk about before bed."

Sensing something important he smiled and scrambled off, holding his hands between his legs. I wondered if he'd been holding it in all day, and figured he probably had. A few seconds later I heard a loud sigh of relief from the bathroom and shortly he returned, considerably more composed.

"Better?"

"Much."

First order of business was dinner. Again he stood as he ate his share. He asked me about Robert and what had happened. I reminded him it was not a slave's place to ask, and that he'd be told when I felt he needed to know. Alex stared at me with a stunned expression, not expecting such a quick and stern rebuke. Disappointment clouded his youthful features.

"Don't worry," I consoled him. "You'll hear all about Robert after dinner."

He finished quickly, eager to know what his future held.

"Clean this up, then come into the living room. Bring your papers. I'm going to see how you did on the house. Oh, by the way, when did you get your writing done?"

"About three-thirty," Alex said as he swallowed his last bite.

That was nearly five hours ago. "And you sat there all this time, waiting for me?"

"Yes, sir," the boy said without boast or pride.

I just shook my head at him. "What kind of boy sits still that long?"

No words of wisdom from this twelve-year-old, just a casual shrug of his shoulders.

The last of the plates and glasses were clattered into the dishwasher. I cringed and imagined most of them being broken. Still I laughed to myself. Alex was desperate to get that mundane task finished so the real fun could begin. I guess I should have expected him to be a little excitable. He marched into the room decisively and stood in front of me with his papers in his hands. I was on the couch, and took a few minutes to simply appreciate him.

"The house looks fine," I began. "Be a little more thorough in the bathrooms next time."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, show me your essay."

Alex handed it to me. It was four pages, front and back. Quite prolific for a pre-adolescent. I read it carefully. I could feel his young eyes upon me, eager for some kind of compliment or criticism, anything but silence. I knew it was bugging him, and so I just kept right on. I could hear him nervously shuffling his feet. Finally I let him off the hook.

It was a very good essay and I told him so. Alex had obviously given this a lot of thought and worked very hard to get his ideas in order. He also raised some points that demanded I challenge him further.

"You talked about two kinds of slavery, Alex. Explain that to me."

He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. "Well," he said, trying to sound very grown up, "in school we learned about the blacks, and how they got here and all. They were slaves."

"They certainly were," I agreed.

"But not like me."

"Why not?"

"They didn't get to decide on their own, if they wanted to be. Slaves or not I mean."

"And you did decide."

"Yep."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Sure. You didn't make me this way."

"Then who did, you?"

Suddenly he felt a trap closing in. I could see it in his eyes. "Well, no," he stammered, "not me, I guess."

"Then who?"

Alexander thought about that for a while. "Nobody," he finally said.

"I don't understand, Alex. Nobody made you a slave, but you are a slave. And you said it was your choice."

"That's not what I meant." I could hear the frustration in his voice.

"What did you mean?"

"I guess I meant to say I was made that way, like I was born that way or something."

"Just like some people are born with brown hair and some with blond?"

"Yeah, that's it. Kind of like that."

"Then you didn't have a choice at all, did you?"

That hit him hard and he didn't have an answer for me. Alex was pretty close to tears. I looked at him with loving eyes and drew him beside me.

"It's alright, Alex," I said softly. "That was cruel of me. I wanted to see how far you would go. I'm sorry."

I sat him down and we snuggled for a bit.

"It kind of felt weird," he confided, "when you were saying those things. I got hard."

"I know you did."

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

I rubbed his shoulders. "About some things you do. Other things you don't. Does that make you scared?"

"A little."

"Well I'm glad you're being honest. Tell you what, why don't you read me your rules now, and we'll see how you did."

"Want me to stand up again?" he asked.

"No. I like you right here."

Alex reached forward and took the single sheet of paper from the coffee table. He read the rules aloud to me in a soft, confident voice. Some of them were familiar, routines we'd already begun to practice, others were of his own making, but quite astute and mature.

1. I will always be naked, or in my work uniform, unless my master tells me to wear clothes.
2. I will always stand or kneel in the house, unless my master tells me to sit. I will only sit where I'm told.
3. I will not speak unless I'm spoken to. If I have something to say, I will ask my master's permission before I say it.
4. I will not go to the bathroom without permission.
5. I will do whatever my master tells me. He loves me and knows what's best.

6. I am not allowed to touch my penis or my balls, ever, unless master tells me to.
7. I will be awake before my master, every day.
8. I will keep myself clean.
9. I will eat all of my vegetables, even the ones I don't like.
10. I will not lie to my master.

"Go ahead."

11. I will be allowed to cry when it hurts. I will never pretend it doesn't when it does, or it that it does when it doesn't.
12. I will never tell anyone about these rules or the things my master and I do together. No one understands me like he does, and I know he's doing all this for me. I will say 'thank you' to him every day for as long as I live.

"How did I do?" he asked.

I wiped a tear from my own eye. "I think it's perfect. I agree with every one of them. We can add more as you get older, but it's a good start. There is one change we have to make. Let's put it in number six."

Gently I pushed him off the couch and gestured to the velvet cloth upon the table.

"Pick it up and unwrap it," I instructed. "It's a gift from Robert."

Alex quickly did as he was told and soon he was holding the shiny, silvery butt-plug in his hand.

"Do you know where that goes?" I asked.

He took a deep breath and slowly nodded his head.

"Then here is your new rule six: I am not allowed to touch my penis or my balls, ever, unless master tells me to. I will have a plug in my behind all the time. Only my master can take it out."

A little high-pitched cry issued from Alexander's throat.

"Bend over and grab your ankles."

With a frightened look on his face he did so, presenting his hairless young boy-hole to me.

"This is smaller than my dick," I said, just to reassure him. "It won't hurt you. It's going to drive your little prostate crazy. Your dick will be leaking like a faucet from now on. Ready?"

"Yes, sir," his voice was small and suddenly very, very young.

"Make like you're taking a crap."

Alex followed orders and the beginner-sized plug went right inside him. His ass slurped the last half-inch [1 cm] or so in all by itself. He yelped and wiggled as he felt the constant pressure on his immature joy button. I pulled him back onto my lap and held him as he fought these new sensations.

"It's never going to go away," I told him. "When you get used to this one, we'll stuff a bigger one up there."

"Oh shit," he cried, his voice strained and higher than usual. I could see the wet-spot already forming on the front of his jockstrap. "Shit, shit, shit."

"That's something you won't be doing without my help from now on."

"That's not funny."

"No, it's true. Now get to bed. Your own room. I'm taking you to see Robert tomorrow afternoon, and I want you rested."

"How can I sleep with this thing in me?!"

"Get used to it, kiddo. It's part of your life from now on."

"Can I please jerk off?"

"No."

He looked at me in desperation.

"You made that rule up yourself, remember."

Defeated by his own handwriting, he hung his head and marched upstairs.

Chapter 7
The Measure of a Boy

"Sit down," I told him.

The boy slumped into his chair, squirming around to find a comfortable position for the plug in his young ass.

"I had a wet dream last night," he told me. "I tried to stop it, but I couldn't. It's all crusty down there now."

Smiling, I patted him on the head. "I figured you'd have one. That should take the edge off for a while. How are you doing otherwise?"

He winced a bit as he wiggled again. "This thing's driving me crazy. It doesn't really hurt though. Just makes me feel full. My dick's leaking."

"It's supposed to be. Have you had a piss yet this morning?"

"No. I have to ask, right?"

"Right," I said, sipping my coffee. "Do you need one?"

"So bad I can taste it," Alex replied.

I gave him an evil grin. "Don't give me any ideas, squirt."

He scrunched up his face in disgust, but I saw his eyes dancing with the possibility. In a small voice he asked me. "You wouldn't really make me drink it, would you?"

"I could. After all you're a slave. If I told you to do it, you would."

The boy put down his toast and looked at me with a worried expression. "I don't think I'm ready for that kind of stuff."

"You'd say no to me?"

This was important ground we were covering, quite unexpectedly, and I wondered what his answer would be, and how I'd handle it. Finally, with a look of guilt on his face, he nodded his head and a soft 'yes' escaped his lips. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I said, reaching across the table and taking his hand. "Your being a slave doesn't mean I can abuse you, or do things you really don't want. If you ever get frightened, I want you to tell me no."

Relief filled Alexander's eyes and he left his chair to hug me. I guess I should have scolded him for getting up without permission, but then I didn't really want a robot around the house needing orders for everything. I held him tightly.

"I think we need a new rule, don't you?"

He agreed and went off to fetch his paper from yesterday. We then sat down together to think it through.

"This is an important one, isn't it?" he asked.

"It is. Most of these are about what you can't do. But you need some rights too."

"How 'bout, 'I am allowed to tell my master no, if I get really scared.' Does that work?"

"I like it. This afternoon, we'll ask Robert how he and his slave handle things like that."

"Robert has a slave?"

"I think that's going to be 'Master Robert' to you, from now on, and yes he does. He never brings him along when he visits."

"Is that why you never took me with you before?"

"Precisely, Watson. Didn't think you were ready to see that."

"How old is he?" Alex asked undeterred. "What's his name?"

"He's eighteen, his name is Michael, and don't you think you've spoken out of turn long enough?"

"Oops! Sorry, sir," he said.

A little smack on his bare behind was his punishment. "Now, let's get your bladder taken care of before you burst."

He rushed to the toilet the moment we reached the bathroom.

"Hold on, Alex. First things first. Bend over."

The boy dutifully bent at the waist and grabbed his ankles again, knowing well what was coming. His instincts were sharp. He won't always need to be told. I liked that. Wrapping an arm around his waist, I took hold of the end of the plug with my free hand. I pulled it out with slow but insistent force. Alex gasped and whimpered. When it was halfway out of him, I held it there. In that position, his body's natural instinct was to slurp it back in, but the strength of my hand kept it right were it was, stretching him wide. Alex' knees buckled and his legs turned to rubber.

"Aw, god, awww!" he cried.

With a swift motion I gave it a sharp tug and the plug slipped right out. It was surprisingly clean, just a thin brown juice, the same that was now running down his legs. I put his plug in the sink and told him to strip. With his eyes still moist he obeyed, skinning out of his two-day old shirt and jock. He was soft, but his balls were swinging low and ready. I cupped them gently and rolled his young nuts between my fingers. Alex moaned and licked his lips.

"How does it feel inside?"

"Empty, and kind of squishy."

"On the toilet, young man," I said.

The realization that I was going to watch him piss and take a shit struck him suddenly and he stared at me with that same giddy, excited, frightened expression I'd seen so much of these last few days. Nothing happened.

"What's wrong?" I asked playfully.

"Geez, man, I can't do it with someone watching me."

"Well you're going to have to get used to it. Besides, what's the big deal? You walk around naked in front of me with all your parts hanging out, you've had my dick up your ass and in your mouth. I've seen about all of you there is. Think about it."

Alex smiled from the toilet and I could see him start to relax. A nice stream of piss began to splatter in the bowl, and then, with a little grunt he emptied his bowels. He looked up at me sheepishly as the strong odor filled the room.

"Damn!" I said, waving my hand in the air. "No human being should smell like that!"

When he was done wiping, I had him present himself to me again, to make sure he was clean. A nice pink hairless hole greeted my inspection.

"Spotless," I proclaimed. He laughed. "Wash off your plug, I'm not doing that for you."

The boy trotted over to the sink and ran the water, soaping up his hands. If cleaning his own juice off the plug bothered him, he didn't let on. Finished, he dried it with a towel and handed it back to me with anticipation in his eyes.

"Not just yet. Let's shower first."

Young Alexander's face lit up at the suggestion. I ran the water for us while he laid out the towels. Things were warm but not too steamy. I stripped as he looked on, then I took his hand and together we stepped in and drew the curtain. Alex stood under the stream, and I felt my heart pounding as I watched the water run down his smooth hairless body, forming little rivulets upon his skin. It was slowly wetting his hair, turning it a dark, dark brown, and running down now upon his face. With two fingers under his chin I lifted his eyes to my own.

"You're so beautiful," I said, overwhelmed by the small presence of this gentle loving boy as he stood there, shivering slightly in spite of the warmth of the water. He smiled at me, the biggest, happiest smile I'd ever seen him give.

"What is it?" I asked.

"This is the first time we've done this since I was like three."

Amazingly it was true. We'd practically lived naked in this house for the past few years, but for some silly reason bath time had always been a private thing. I remembered that ritual from long ago, big brother giving little brother his bath. Mom and dad were happy for the break, and little Alex was always wound up with excitement, and hard as a rock, or maybe a pebble back then. Anyway, I was always the one who got the most water on him as he splashed and giggled.

"You used to give me soap-sud beards, remember?" he asked. There was a look of faraway longing in his young hazel eyes.

"I remember. Then I'd put you in your pj's and read you a story."

"Sometimes we'd both fall asleep," he continued our memory.

"Then mom would come in and cover us up."

Alex sniffled. Was he starting to cry? The water running down his face from the shower made it impossible to tell. "I really miss them," he said in a stricken voice. "But," he turned his eyes away and didn't continue.

"Tell me," I said as gently as I could.

"I'm having a hard time remembering what they look like. I have to look at their pictures now, or I forget. Does that make me a bad person?"

I pulled him close and he pressed his head to my chest. "You were so young when they died. You don't have many memories to start with. That's just how it is, I guess. You look a lot like her, you know."

"Do I?" he said gazing up at me with our mother's eyes.

"Makes it real hard to fuck you, that's for sure."

He smiled a little, but I could tell this was no time for laughter. "If they were still alive, do you think I'd be different?"

"Would you want to be?"

"I don't know. Like you said, it's just how it is."

I ran my fingers through his wet hair and kissed him on the forehead. "Want to know what I think?"

Alex nodded that he did.

"I think you'd still be smart as a whip, and kind, and gentle. You'd still be the best kid in the whole world, as far as I'm concerned."

He hugged me a little tighter. "Would I 3; be all the other things too?"

"Probably."

That seemed to make him feel better. Slowly the sadness faded as we leisurely washed each other. I soaped him up first, relishing in his smooth warm skin and his lean, muscular frame. I tweaked his nipples and gave them both a little squeeze. He stood up on his toes and took in a sharp breath, but not a sound came forth. I jiggled his young balls. The water had made them hang even lower in their hairless sac, now silken and dark red from the heat. I stroked him to erection, then knelt before him. It may not have been something a master should do, but it just felt right.

I'd only been sucking him for a few minutes when he curled his little toes and came in my mouth, gasping and grunting and filling me with his immature seed. Its taste was strangely sweet. I stood again when I was finished. Alex looked up at me with dreamy eyes, then dropped to his knees, the water rolling off his shoulders and back. His small hands caressed me, and he took me into his mouth. I steadied him, but let him do the work for both of us. It wasn't long before he'd brought me to the edge. He was intent and didn't realize the effect he was having. I put one hand behind his head, pressing him forward.

"I'm going to cum now," I told him. "I'm going to cum in your mouth, Alexander. Swallow it."

Unable to hold back any longer, I shot jet after jet into his small, warm mouth. I could see his eyes widen as I filled him up. Dutifully he swallowed, not spilling a precious drop of my fluid, then looked up at me with just a little pride.

"I like making you feel good," he said in a sleepy, satisfied voice.

"You do a very good job of it," I complimented him. Alex was about to stand up again, but I held him down with gentle pressure on his shoulders. "Stay on your knees and wash me."

"Yes, sir." Alex just seemed to know when to call me that, and his mood became instantly subdued. A certain tone in my voice, a certain manner in my expression held a deep and instant power over him. The boy went about his task with single-minded focus.

The touch of his young hands on my skin was light and sure. It was ecstasy when he washed my legs.

"May I stand up to do the rest of you?" Alex asked with his head bowed.

Gently I lifted his chin with two fingers. "I want you to look at me when you speak. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Never hide your eyes from anyone."

Alex gave me a quick smile. "Yes, sir."

I could see a question brewing in those hazel orbs. "Tell me."

"Well, sir, that doesn't seem like something a slave should do."

I raised him to his feet. "It probably isn't, Alex. But you and I are going to do things differently. I always want you to be proud. Maybe, sometimes, I'll want you to keep your eyes down, but only when I tell you, got it?"

He nodded and finished his task. I hugged him close, as the water fell upon us.

"Ready to get out?"

"Yeah, I'm all pruny."

I made Alex remain dripping wet while he dried me, then he dried himself under my watchful eyes. He hung up the towels as instructed, then shifted his attention to the butt- plug, clean and waiting by the sink. The boy's expression was a perfect mix of desire and dread. I knew he wanted it, I also knew it was already a powerful symbol of his humility and submission.

"How does that make you feel?" I asked. "Not just down here," I tenderly caressed his round behind.

Alex was silent for a while. He was just staring at it, and considering all these new and confusing sensations his young body was experiencing. Finally he turned and looked at me, just as I'd told him to do. His expression was serious.

"It makes me feel like I have to cum, all the time, but also that I don't want to. I mean, like needing to cum is better than really doing it. It's like my dick is saying one thing, and the rest of me is saying something else. That doesn't make any sense, does it?"

Just talking about it was making him hard again. There he stood shamelessly bobbing and throbbing, pre-cum oozing from his slit.

"Actually it makes perfect sense," I said, flicking his rigid young boner with my finger. "We're going to train that dick of yours."

Alex looked at me with wild eyes. "How?"

"You'll find out."

He seemed disappointed that he'd have to wait, but I had an idea that would drag him along for a while and give him a little taste of what was to come.

"Take the plug to your bedroom with you. Put it on your nightstand then lie down, face up. Don't touch yourself. I'll be in shortly."

He made a cute little bow then marched off to follow orders, grabbing up the metal butt-plug as he went. Alex caressed it as if were made of some precious substance. Quickly I got dressed then went down to the basement to find something I might use on him. Naturally I didn't have any bondage gear for the kid yet, but I managed to find some soft old rope wound up in a darkened corner. I laid it out on the floor and cut it to more appropriate lengths. Before I turned off the single overhead light I paused and looked around. I hadn't been down here in an age, but I instantly knew this was going to be the perfect place for us, the perfect place for Alexander.

It's an old house, like I said, and the basement is huge. Several thick wooden pillars and a pair of newer ones made of steel supported the floor above. There were equally thick rafters running its entire length. It had no ground- level windows as modern basements do. The walls were brick, patched here and there with concrete. The floor was brick was well. There was the ubiquitous creaky narrow wooden stair from the kitchen, but there was also an outside exit with an inner and outer door. Transforming this cold dark space would be fairly easy, and already a vision of how I'd lay things out was beginning to form, and with it a vision of things Alex and I would do here.

I hurried up the stairs, realizing I'd spent more time than I'd intended. Alex was waiting for me exactly as instructed. When he saw the ropes in my hands his eyes flashed with excitement.

"Oh, shit! You're gonna tie me up! Finally!"

"That's right, Alex. Are you okay with that?"

"Way okay," he said with a smile. "Make 'em real tight. Please?"

"Just enough to keep you from getting loose. Let's do your wrists first."

He lay flat on his back and perfectly still. I took his left wrist and looped the first of the ropes around it. Then I pulled his arm out straight and tied the rope around corner of the headboard. It was an old cast iron one with thick bars, just made for this sort of thing as luck would have it. Alex' eyes followed me eagerly as I slowly walked around and repeated the procedure with his right arm. He tugged on his restraints, but his arms were going nowhere, stretched just slightly above his head.

"How's that?" I asked. "First time I've ever tied a boy up."

"You're good at it," he said, giving another useless but symbolic wriggle.

"Now your ankles." I spread him as far as I dared, until I could see the muscles in his legs begin to strain. "Does that hurt?"

"A little," he gasped.

"Can you handle it?"

"Yes, sir."

Without a further word I tied his ankles as I'd done his wrists before. The boy was now stretched across the bed, his hairless but impressive cock standing straight up, six inches [15 cm] and hard as steel.

"Fuck me," he whispered. "Please."

Ignoring him, I took the butt-plug and slowly worked it back inside him. Alex gasped and grunted in frustration as it went in. I gave his penis several quick strokes. He moaned and begged me to make him shoot.

I left him hard and horny and unable to do a thing about it. "We won't be leaving 'til after lunch. I'll release you when it's time to eat."

Twelve-year-old Alex almost growled at me. It was nice to see a little flare of resistance from the submissive boy. He made one more valiant attempt to test his bonds, then flopped his head down onto the pillow with a weak little cry. I stepped close to his bed once more.

"I'll leave the door open just in case. If it gets too much for you, just shout. I'll let you go if you really can't take it. Try to take it. Try for me." I kissed my bound boy on the forehead and walked away.