Istari

Mastering Alex

Chapters 24-25

Chapter 24
The Life of the Party

Over the past few weeks I had become aware of a basic truth about my boy. The tougher I made things for him, the crueler and harder my treatment of him, the stronger he embraced it and the deeper was his submission. Things were escalating between us. We could both feel it.

In bed that night, I allowed Alex ten minutes to talk about the day and how the things we'd done and said to him had made him feel. A full day of pent up emotions and frustrations and madness just spilled forth.

"I messed up a lot today, didn't I?" he asked as he sat naked between my legs, my arms wrapped tenderly around his chest.

"Yes, you did," I replied. "But you were punished for it each time. I will never hold things over you, Alex. You mess up, you get punished, we move on. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Besides these were tough lessons today."

"Sure were. You know, I can't stop thinking about tomorrow 3; that's going to be hard, isn't it?"

"For you, yes. I plan on having a great time."

He shivered and moved closer. I pushed him away gently and onto his back. Freed of his belt, his cock, once again hairless, was sticking straight up, but he would not be cumming tonight.

"Spread your legs, Alex," I commanded.

With a soft voice he responded. "Yes, master."

"Roll over."

He did with a quiet, "Yes, sir."

"That's my boy."

I gave him a gentle spanking, just to re-light the fire of the paddle and cane from earlier. Then I entered him roughly, leaving him moaning and gasping into his pillow.

Michael woke us gently the next morning. He was already dressed in his travel outfit, jeans and a short-sleeved pullover, white runners on his feet. Collar and cuffs were in plain view, and beneath his clothes I knew he was bound and locked in chastity. He smiled at Alex and his bright blue eyes betrayed his excitement about the days ahead.

Normally energetic in the mornings, Alex seemed sluggish and wary. We showered together. He met my eyes with a shy and gentle expression, then bowed his head again and pressed himself against me. I rubbed my hands over his trembling shoulders and down the center of his back. The boy's penis was hard and he was gasping softly. I knew he desperately wanted me touch him. I kissed him on the forehead and turned off the water.

"Don't dry yourself. Stand there until your erection is gone, then come into the bedroom."

I left Alex there in the tub, hard and horny and shivering. He appeared a few minutes later, his soft five inches [12½ cm] swinging between his beautiful slender thighs as he walked toward me.

After letting him drip dry for a few minutes, I stood the boy in front of me and put him in his gear. Michael had delivered a new butt-plug courtesy his master, a much larger and thicker one than I'd used on Alex before. It took some grunting and groaning to work it up inside him. There was no way it could ever come out on its own. His leather jock went on next and then, of course, the pod. Alex seemed to be miles away already.

"Nervous?" I asked as I tightened his harness around his chest.

"Yes, sir."

"I am too. Hand me your cuffs."

Alex placed the ankle cuffs in my hands and I slowly and lovingly buckled them in place, running my hands up and down the boy's firm hairless legs, feeling the well packed muscles in his calves. We hadn't used the padlocks in a while, but for today it seemed appropriate, and I clicked them in place. We both liked the idea that the cuffs could not come off. His wrists received the same treatment. The boy presented his collar to me next, then knelt to receive it around his neck.

With one last click of a padlock it was done.

"Shirt and shorts," I ordered. "Then get your shoes on. No socks."

Alex dressed quickly, his hands shaking in nervous excitement.

"Take your time, sweetie," I said gently. "They won't leave without us."

My boy smiled and relaxed a little. When he was finished, he presented himself to me. I straightened his shirt and raised his shorts a little higher on his hips, revealing more of his sexy thirteen-year-old legs. His hair was just getting long enough to need brushing again, and so he did that with me looking on. I tossed him the gel and he quickly got it the way he liked.

"Do I look alright?" he asked, examining himself in the full-length mirror.

"Adorable. And very grown up."

Alex beamed. What boy doesn't like to heart that particular compliment? "Really?"

"Really."

"Can I have a hug, before we go?"

"You can always have a hug, Alex. Come here."

I drew him into my arms and we embraced. In that moment it struck me just how small and slender and fragile he was. Yes, he was strong and athletic, but he was still a boy. It would be so easy to really and truly hurt him, and there would be nothing he could do about it. Alex didn't have the strength to resist.

He must have sensed the dark cloud that suddenly came between us. He pulled back for a moment and stared at me.

"What's wrong?" he asked in a whisper.

"Nothing, Alex." I took his hands into my own. "Go get your gag, then we'll see about breakfast."

Robert had a large feast prepared in the kitchen, but not for all of us. For himself and for me it was fruit and bread, juice and coffee. For Michael and Alex it was pancakes and eggs and bacon, milk and juice.

"This will be the last real meal they eat for a while," our host explained as we allowed the boys to sit down with us at the table. "And as for you and I, we'll be quite stuffed before things wind down, so go light this morning."

Anxious and nervous, Alex at first picked at his food, but Michael tapped him on the arm and gave him a warm smile.

"Better eat all you can," he said in his soft but confident voice. "We'll need it."

With the older boy's example and encouragement, Alex dug in with renewed enthusiasm, drowning his large stack of cakes with strawberry syrup and swallowing his juice in large gulps. He was the only one without a coffee cup. Robert took one from the counter and set it in front of him.

"Want to drink like the grown-ups this morning, son?" he asked.

Alex looked at me with a smile. He'd had a few sips of coffee before, and I often put a little in his milk for him, but this was the real thing, strong and black and filling the kitchen with its nutty aroma. With my tacit approval he flipped the cup upright and Robert filled it to the rim. We all laughed when he wrinkled his nose at the first taste and forced it down his throat.

"When I think of all the other things he's had in his mouth lately 3;"

My boy glared at me playfully and joined us in our laughter. It felt good. And he did finish the entire cup, respectfully declining seconds.

Robert's garage was a source of wonder for Alex. Home to six of the shiniest most beautiful vehicles he'd ever laid his young eyes upon. There was a late model Jaguar, a vintage Mercedes, and several more modest but equally stylish cars all neatly parked in their bays. Our transport for this adventure however awaited us at the far end, an immaculately maintained black cargo van, likely a Dodge at some point, though it had been customized to such a degree that it had little in common with anything you'd find on the showroom floor.

"Let's get the boy's inside," Robert said as he unlocked the back doors.

Alex and I looked in together. Definitely not factory standard!

Thick rubber matting covered the floor and walls, and there were rings and hooks and chains dangling everywhere. There was a small iron cage and a restraining chair similar to those that lived in Robert's dungeon. Both pieces were secured to the floor with heavy braces and bolts.

Robert and I instantly came to an unspoken agreement, and he opened the cage door while I helped Alex climb up into the van. With my boy on his hands and knees, I worked his shorts off his slender frame, then his shirt. Only his shoes and leather remained.

"Get in there, Alex," I said softly, after I'd buckled the ball-gag in place.

Alex blinked once and crawled into the cage. He went in headfirst and quickly discovered there was no room inside for him to turn around, or sit or stretch. He would be on his hands and knees for the entire trip. I locked his wrist and ankle cuffs to the iron bars and Robert slowly closed the door. Alex actually jumped a little when he heard the heavy latch and the ratcheting click of the big lock.

Next Michael was placed in the chair and strapped down from toe to forehead. His fingers were about the only thing he could move. He was not gagged, and Robert turned the chair so he was looking directly at my boy in the cage.

"Keep an eye on Alex," Robert instructed him. "If it looks like he's in trouble, tell us right away. You may talk to him, but keep your voice down."

"Yes, sir."

Robert tightened the young man's straps a little more, causing Michael to moan softly under his breath. Together we then knelt down in front of Alex. The caged boy wiggled his shoulders a bit, then his hips, pressing them against the bars. I could tell by the look on his young face that Alex was zoning out again, as he often seemed to do. Robert snapped his fingers and clapped his hands. Alex focused his hazel eyes on us instantly.

"You're going to have a rough ride, kid," Robert said without exaggeration. "I'll take it slow, but you're going to have a few bruises by the time we get there. Keep your arms locked or else you'll knock your head against the bars. Don't want you blacking out now, do we?"

Alex shook his head and blinked his eyes twice. I worked my right hand between the bars and gently caressed his cheek. I gave him a little slap. "Mike will be watching you, don't worry. Just do what Robert says."

The boy straightened his shoulders and locked his elbows, then put his head down.

Robert and I stepped out and closed the rear doors. Moments later we were off. There was a dark curtain that separated the cabin from the cargo area. The silence from behind the curtain was strange. I knew my wonderful boy was back there, and I had to fight the urge to draw back the dark blue fabric and check on him.

"Let him be for a while," Robert said as we left the driveway. "Mike will tell us if anything goes wrong."

I turned back in my chair and watched the miles go by. For obvious reasons, Robert avoided the interstates and other heavily trafficked roads, instead winding us up and down and around the countryside lanes, always taking us generally north. Occasionally he would hit an unavoidable bump or pothole, which was immediately followed by a loud yelp or moan of protest from young Alex as he was smashed against the bars of the cage.

"You're not hitting those on purpose, are you?" I asked wickedly.

"Now why would I ever do a thing like that?" he replied with a knowing smirk upon his bearded lips.

We'd been on the road for about ninety minutes, when Robert pulled off onto a wooded drive. I'd thought his own private estate was a realm of opulence, but the elaborate mansion that loomed before us was simply breathtaking.

"I'm in the wrong business, Rob," I said with a laugh.

"No need to feel that way, Steven. You and Alex are my guests, and you'll both fit in nicely, I'm sure. Remember, if you're comfortable, Alex will be comfortable."

I took that to heart as I surveyed the large number of vehicles already parked along the edges of the circular driveway. There were custom models like Robert's, expensive luxury cars of all makes, sport vehicles, vans and pick-ups, some extraordinary, some deceptively plain. Clearly the party had already begun.

"I'm never the first to arrive, nor the last to leave," Robert explained. "I confess I do have some standing among these people, and a timely entrance is important. Good turnout today."

I could hear the soft distant sounds of a string quartet playing as we opened the rear doors of the van. Alex was leaning to one side of the cage and breathing heavily. The last hundred yards down the driveway had been particularly rough on him. Robert handed me the key and I worked the heavy lock open. The door swung on its hinges with a soft well-oiled creak.

"Don't move, boy," I said. I released his ankle and wrist cuffs, then reached into the cage and put my hands firmly around his hips. Slowly I backed Alex out of the cage. He did have the beginnings of a few bruises on his shoulders, but nothing serious. They'd just give him a little extra character. Having worn the ball-gag for so long, a trail of drool and spittle ran from his mouth and down onto the floor of the van. Alex looked at me with embarrassed eyes, but I knew he couldn't help it. I patted him on the head and Robert handed me a cloth before proceeding to release Michael. I wiped my boy down gently, and dried the outside of the gag.

"Stretch," I ordered as the boy stood on two feet for the first time in nearly two hours. Alex dutifully twisted and turned his narrow hips, and raised his arms above his head. He did a few toe touches, which made him look quite adorable with his cute little ass in the air. I gave that perfect target a few playful smacks.

"Save a bit for later, Steven," Robert laughed as he helped Michael out of the van. The older slave went through a similar but far more efficient and practiced round of stretches, his lean eighteen-year-old body already glistening with sweat. When the young man had finished, he bent over to remove his shoes.

I gave Alex a firm tug on his harness. "Help Michael get those off."

Robert nodded his approval, and young Alex quickly kneeled before his senior slave and untied the well-worn tennis shoes, removing them with great care, taking a moment to caress Michael's bare feet. The boy was reluctant to finish his task, but he did, then got up and placed the shoes neatly in the van.

With a silent command from his master, Michael reciprocated. He was exceedingly gentle, and looked up at Alex with a warm smile the entire time as he removed the boy's runners. Alex soon had that faraway look in his eyes again and a soft sigh escaped his throat. I curled a finger around the nearest ring in his collar and pulled him sharply back to reality. The boy blushed and gave me a contrite and embarrassed look.

"Stay focused, Alex," I warned him. "And stay close." He nodded his head. I kissed him on the cheek and we were ready. No lead for his collar. We'd discussed that before falling asleep in each other's arms the previous night. It was important to him that he prove he didn't need one. It was also a bit of a risk, but Alex is no fool, and he knows how to keep his eyes and ears open.

We followed Robert and Michael to the front door. Alex was at my right side, a half-step behind. I could feel his hand brushing against mine, and I could hear his anxious breathing.

Robert rang the bell, and the large door was quickly opened by a handsome teenaged boy with dark hair and deep brown eyes. The lad appeared to be a few years younger than Michael was, perhaps sixteen. Tall and slender, he wore a formal bow tie around his neck and a black coat with tails. And nothing else. His soft cock, thick and impressive, dangled between firm sinewy adolescent legs. His bare feet were large and gave him an adorably awkward look. The youth was well tanned, and he had a single golden ring in each ear. It was obvious from his expression that he recognized Robert immediately.

"Good afternoon, Thomas. You're looking well. A few inches taller, and longer I see."

The attractive teenager blushed. "Thank you, sir."

"Where is your master?" Robert asked, looking the boy up and down with his piercing gray eyes.

"In the garden, sir. He has been expecting you."

Thomas stepped to one side and gestured us into the house. His brown eyes were locked on Alex as the thirteen- year-old followed close behind me. It was the first of many stares young Alex would be receiving as the afternoon wore on.

The garden was reached through a door at the opposite end of the large well-appointed Georgian hall. We stepped out into a world of manicured terraces, fine sculpture, flowing fountains and soft music. Alex squeezed my hand gently, and together we shook our heads in amazement. One might have thought we'd stepped back into a more genteel past, but the presence of scores of young men and boys in leather, chains, or nothing at all quickly brought us back to our curious new reality.

Robert had told me weeks earlier that Alex, while the newest, would not be the youngest boy here, and he was correct. While youngsters were and are certainly rare in our little circle, a leisurely glance revealed numerous boys smaller and younger than my Alex, and at least one who appeared to be no more than eight or nine years old. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a quick flash of dark red, and there of course was Sebastian, standing at firm attention beside his master.

Samuel Collins was engaged in some polite debate with another gentleman in a rather expensive suit. The doctor himself was dressed casually, preferring to allow his young nephew the honor of attracting all the attention. And that he did, remarkably well. Sebastian was covered in a tight reddish-hued leather bodysuit that nearly matched the color of his hair. His hands were encased in leather mittens and his slender arms bound tightly to his sides by straps built into the suit. The boy's feet were bare, as they always seemed to be. He was not gagged, but it was clear from his rigid posture that he was under strict orders not to speak or respond in any way to anything said or done to him.

That was of course until he saw Alex. Then his intelligent young eyes lit up and he risked a little smile in our direction. Samuel caught him instantly, and after offering us a friendly gesture, he promptly gave the boy a hard smack on his little round rump to help him regain his focus.

"Come on, Alex," I said as I gave my boy a little swat of his own.

We hurried along to catch up to Robert, and soon found ourselves under a large pavilion where masters and slaves were mingling informally, and where food, and drink and music were found in abundance. Alex continued to be the object of long stares as we followed Robert through the lively crowd. Some stares were wicked and lustful, some hopelessly smitten by the thirteen-year-old's youthful yet masculine beauty, and most were simply appreciative of a young boy bravely entering a grown-up world for the first time and doing his very best to prove he belonged. I knew Alex could feel their admiration, and I could sense him standing a little taller as he walked close behind me.

A well-dressed middle-aged gentleman rose from a comfortable couch to greet us and took Robert's hand first. It was immediately clear that their association had been a long and fruitful one.

"So good to see you, Robert," he said in a thick but cultured voice. "Sorry you had to miss my last little soiree. It just wasn't the same without you, or Michael."

The young slave gave one of his trademark bows. Robert then introduced me to our host, using only his first name, as was the custom. Wim. Unusual and distinctive, and fitting for one who lived in such conspicuous luxury.

"No introduction necessary," he said and presented his hand to me. "Thomas and I are both fans of your writing."

I nodded in sincere gratitude, unaware I was known in such wealthy and influential circles.

"Robert tells me we should be expecting a novel from you shortly."

"If I can ever manage to finish it," I said, glancing at my little brother. "I've been rather distracted lately."

Wim's eyes fell on Alexander, and a warm smile crossed his face. He looked the bound, gagged, and belted boy up and down. Alex blushed, but stood straight and motionless by my side. "No wonder you can't concentrate. This must be Alex."

"He keeps my life interesting, that's certain," I replied, caressing the boy gently between his shoulders, and pushing him forward slightly so Wim could get a better look. "Stand," I said firmly.

Young Alex was in position instantly, his slim muscular legs spread wide, his hands clasped behind his head, his hazel eyes forward meeting those of our host.

"Very nice," Wim said after a soft whistle of admiration. He extended his hands, the tips of his fingers hovering just inches from the boy's smooth flesh. "May I?"

I could hear Alex take a sharp breath. "By all means," I replied.

Alex shuddered as the stranger's hands lightly and gently worked over his slender frame, dancing playfully over his bare skin. Wim pulled Alex yet closer and ran his fingers up and down the thirteen-year-old's back, pausing often to squeeze the boy's firm behind. Alex still had his hands behind his head. Wim found the end of the boy's butt- plug, held tightly in place by the thin leather strap. He gave it a quick tug.

"Got a nice little ass on you, boy," I heard him say. "I'll bet you just love getting it fucked."

Alex whimpered into his gag and his body stiffened as Wim moved his exploring hands over the boy's thighs and up between his legs, jiggling the metal pod that encased his genitals.

"Does he wear this often?" our wealthy host asked.

"Most of the time," I replied. Alex nodded his head and sighed quietly.

"And how old is he?"

"He turned thirteen less than a month ago."

Wim continued his examination. "Spread your legs a little farther, boy," he said.

Remembering the rules, Alex craned his head back and looked at me. His eyes were soft and pleading. In answer I reached out and smacked him twice on the ass. "Do as you are told, Lexi."

The boy spread his feet as far as he could without losing his balance. Wim again ran his hands over the kid's thighs, now taut and straining, before returning his attentions to the chastity belt and the seed pod. He let it rest in his palm.

"Hmm. There's already some weight inside," he said appreciatively, then looked over Alex' shoulder at me. "He must be hung like a horse."

"Well, at least a pony," I replied with a smile. Alex let out a soft giggle. I figured he needed something to lighten the mood, even if just for a moment.

Wim patted him on the thigh and sent him back to me. Alex immediately resumed his place at my side, and I felt the back of his hand softly touching mine. Once. Twice. Three times. Quietly I took it and he squeezed tightly. Alex let out a long-held breath. I turned to look at him and saw my boy's eyes were fixed on the ground, his chin nearly down upon his chest. My Alex was scared. I reached over and gently lifted his chin.

"Keep your head up," I said softly, but sternly. Then I took his hand again.

"You have a fine boy, Steven," our host continued. "I do hope we'll be seeing more of him later today. Make yourself at home. We have organized a little game of soccer for the youngsters. We'll be starting this afternoon on the south lawn. Alex is welcome to play. With legs like those 3; " Wim trailed off into a tender smile. "And of course we often choose a little one for our evening hunt. Perhaps Alex would like to be the quarry today."

Beside me, Alex jumped and shivered.

"Ah, he's already trembling," Wim observed good- naturedly. "He'll make fine prey."

The idea of a naked Alex being chased through the woods was rather appealing, and I promised Wim I'd consider it. We paid our respects then followed Robert and Michael a little further along through the terraced gardens, gaining introductions to many of his most valued associates, clients, and friends. There were, to my amazement, a few familiar faces among those gathered, people I'd seen on the news, people in power.

At first, I confess, Alex and I felt like poor cousins. And yet, everyone seemed to go out of their way to mingle in our direction and make us feel welcome. Some masters offered their hand to Alex, while others patted him warmly on the behind. I'd removed his gag, but he was still not permitted to speak. Several people tried their best to catch him off guard, but not once did my clever boy ever open his mouth. I was so proud of him. I actually hugged him, right there in front of everyone.

My eyes caught a few more boys I hadn't noticed before. None were so elaborately clad as Sebastian was in his neck- to-ankle leather bodysuit, and one teenaged lad was crawling naked on his hands and knees behind his master, leashed to the man's wrist. Finally I turned to Robert with the obvious question.

"How many boys are there? Real ones, I mean."

Robert's eyes danced and he flashed a wicked grin. "Enjoying the sights, are you? Well, I will tell you. At the moment there are eight we know of, including young Alex, that the law would consider minors, but several of them are among the most experienced slaves here. And many of the young men you see first came to gatherings like this as children. You are not the only one here with an attraction to boys, but you will learn that our chosen lifestyle often transcends age."

I nodded that I understood, and squeezed Alexander's hand a little more tightly as we walked.

"We do take great care with the young ones," Robert continued. His expression quickly darkened, and spoke to me softly so Alex wouldn't hear his equally dark words. "The ones we know about at least. People always assume when a boy disappears and never returns that he's been murdered. I suspect, and have seen some evidence that suggests otherwise. I have my theories, but proving them would endanger far too many lives."

I shivered at the mere thought of what Robert was implying. He quickly changed the subject.

"Enough of this. There is much for you to see, and much for Alex to learn. Michael and I have our own engagements to attend to. I trust, young man," he said, addressing Alex directly, "that you will keep yourself and your master out of trouble?"

Alex smiled and nodded his head, and with that Rob and Mike walked off leaving us alone in a crowd of strangers. His last words to me were delivered with a wink and a wicked smile. "You'll find some activities in the carriage house to keep the boy occupied."

And indeed we did, once we were pointed in the right direction. The carriage house, an old brick structure that I'm sure normally housed our host's exceptional collection of vehicles, had a different kind of machinery in it today. Crosses and frames and stocks and even a frightful medieval rack filled the many bays. Ten slaves were strapped and bound to them in every imaginable position, with their masters all looking on as they were methodically tortured by yet others. Whimpers and cries filled the air. It was a strangely musical and arousing sound. Another handful of slaves lined the back wall, chained to one another and to large rings in the floor. Unoccupied masters mingled and talked freely, awaiting the next round of activities.

Alex and I hovered near the door, captivated by what we were witnessing, and apparently unnoticed, for the moment. A thirteen-year-old slave does draw attention to himself though, without even trying. Before long a kind-faced and elderly master approached us and held out his hand to me. The grip was surprisingly firm and virile.

"Master Steven 3; and Alex, correct?" he asked softly. His voice betrayed years and years of smoking.

I nodded with rather dubious eyes.

"No need for suspicion. It is to our advantage to stay informed of new members, and particularly when a boy joins our little family. How are you today, Alex?"

I hadn't even learned this man's name yet, but somehow I trusted him, and, given his age, it also seemed only appropriate that Alex answer him directly, and politely. I gave my boy a gentle nudge and he promptly offered one of his flourishing bows. It had the same effect it always did on Robert, mainly a delighted smile and a soft chuckle from its recipient.

"I'm fine, sir," Alex then said, standing up again. "Thank you for asking."

"You are surprised that I would? A slave's feelings are important too, aren't they?"

"I guess so," my sweet boy replied quietly.

"You guess? A slave must not guess, boy."

"I mean, yes, sir," Alex stammered, quickly and deftly correcting himself. "They are important."

"I'm pleased you think so." The old gentleman, for that's what he was, smiled warmly at us. "I am Bartholomew 3; but you, young man," he pointed a playful finger at Alex, "will only ever call me sir. Clear?"

Alex stood up straight as an arrow. "Yes, sir!" he said strongly, then returned his elder's smile.

"He's adorable," Bartholomew said, patting the five-foot-tall [1.50 m] boy on the top of his head. He turned his soft experienced eyes to me. "I've been training slaves since before either of you were born, Steven, but this boy is special. I know them when I see them."

I couldn't find any argument with that.

"Care to put the little colt through his paces?" he asked.

Alex instinctively moved closer to me. Gazing down at him, there was that look of fear and desire in his eyes. I did not hesitate. "Absolutely."

"Do you have a preference?" Bartholomew asked as we scanned the room together, observing older and more experienced slaves enduring unbelievable tortures.

Finally I left it up to Alex to make the decision. Together we walked up and down the line of increasingly harsh devices. The rack in particular held the boy's fascination. A fit and muscular young man in his early twenties was it's current occupant. He was moaning softly into a heavy leather gag, and rolling his head from side to side. His back was arched, his lean hairless torso heaving with gaping breaths. The anguished look in his eyes forced Alex closer to me. The stretch in the young man's joints was a sight to behold. One more turn I'm sure and tendons would begin to snap.

Alex gave me that 'no way' look all thirteen-year-old's have mastered. Something in his expression told me that one day soon he'd do it, even ask for it, but not today. We moved on, my hands now gently resting on his shoulders. At our next stop, an older teen, perhaps Michael's age, was hanging with from his wrists and ankles. They were bound together behind him. Enormous leaden weights hung from his balls, and yet more from his nipples, pulling his most sensitive parts downward with ruthless and relentless force. The youth's head hung down in exhaustion so we could not see his face, but we could both hear his quiet sobs. Up and down this row of suffering and torment, things seemed to have come to a stop for a moment, but everything was set up so that the slaves remained on display the entire time.

"Guess everyone's gonna be watching me, huh?" Alex asked softly as we stood before a wooden bondage frame, it's current occupant suspended by his ankles. It was clear from his quiet moans and ample tears that the young man was being allowed to rest before he was taken down and replaced by another.

"That's the idea, Lexi."

The boy fidgeted nervously, but his eyes were carefully digesting everything around him. I knew this was a difficult moment for him. Up until now, everything we'd done had been in the familiar confines of home, or in the safe environment provided by Robert's dungeon. Alex had always been among those who loved him. Warmth and compassion surrounded him, even as he suffered. This was very different. Cold and detached, the calculated infliction of pain for pain's sake, as total strangers looked on.

I did not push him, but I did not let him quit and walk away. If this was the life he wanted, he would need to learn the darker truths about it. Finally he stood up as tall as he could and stepped a bit closer the frame nearest to us, the one with the young man still hanging by his ankles.

"This one," Alex said with boyish conviction. "Just like this. Upside-down and everything. Whip me good!"

Bartholomew smiled widely and laid a friendly hand on my boy's shoulder. "So eager. I like that. We'll see how you feel about things when I'm through with you." His voice was suddenly chilling, and for a moment I caught a glimpse of a fierce and stern-faced master. Alex eyed me with giddy terror. Robert had told me we would meet true sadists here, masters of their craft who would teach Alex about the depths of pain. Something in that kindly old man's expression told me my young charge was in for a very rough time.

"Would you remove his belt, please?" Bartholomew asked, as Alex trembled between us.

Pulling the keys from my pocket, I opened the padlocks and slowly removed the metal pod and leather jock, leaving them close by. His butt-plug remained. Alex sighed deeply as his boyhood was freed from its unforgiving constraints. Driven by fear and anticipation, and the large audience that was quietly assembling to watch him, the boy got hard instantly.

"Ah, the little man's excited. How sweet," Bartholomew said. "I'd like to keep him that way for a while, if you don't mind."

"By all means."

A thick leather strap was quickly and roughly tied around the boy's cock and balls, then looped again and again around the base of his throbbing young erection. Alex actually groaned when the knot was pulled taut. Already his penis was a dark red, and slowly turning purple. Tied off and separated, his balls were also taking on a colorful hue.

"Turn around, Alex," Bartholomew said. I noticed he almost always used the boy's name. A sign of respect he'd later tell me.

Alex did what he was told and presented his backside to the elderly master. His wrist cuffs were quickly locked together and a series of well-used leather straps were cinched tightly around his arms until his elbows were nearly touching. I could see the strain in his shoulders, as well as the painful grimace upon his sweet innocent face.

"Now sit down. Ask your master for help, if you need it."

With his arms bound and useless behind him, he did need help. I got him onto the floor, and he sat silent and shaking with his beautiful legs stretched in front of him. Bartholomew knotted thick heavy ropes through the rings in the boy's ankle cuffs then began to circle them around, distributing the pressure evenly. Alex was staring up with dancing eyes at the pulley system to which the ropes were already attached. His cock was so hard I thought it would burst.

After making a final check of the ropes for safety, Bartholomew knelt down beside Alex and gestured me to do the same. Once again his eyes and voice were those of a kindly grandfather, but I know they would not remain so for long.

"Listen to me very carefully, Alex," he said. "And keep your eyes forward. I want you to answer some questions for me. I will not repeat myself."

"Yes, sir."

"When was the last time you came?"

"Yesterday morning, sir."

"Do you need your master's permission to cum?"

Alex looked at me for an instant. "Yes, sir, I do."

He received a gentle smack for disobeying. "Eyes forward."

"Sorry, sir."

Bartholomew continued. "Have you been whipped before?"

"Yes, sir. Often. By my master."

"But never by someone who doesn't love you."

Alex shuddered. His answer was honest, and painful. "Yes, sir," he said with a trembling voice. "That's happened to me too. When I was very little."

Our newest friend seemed to melt when he heard that, but he gathered his emotions quickly. "This will be very hard for you. Do you have a safeword?"

The boy nodded and took a deep breath. "Yes, sir."

"Tell me."

"Butterfly, sir."

A gentle hand caressed Alex' shoulder. "It suits you. Did you choose it yourself?"

"Yes, sir, I did."

"Use it if you have to. There is no shame. I am going to hurt you very badly, you know that."

"I do, sir."

My sweet brave boy closed his eyes for a moment. "May I ask a question, sir?"

"Of course, Alex."

"Where will my master be, when it's happening?"

"Where would you like him to be?"

"Close, sir."

"I understand," Bartholomew said tenderly. "You need his touch, don't you?"

Alex nodded. It was beyond words.

"Let's get you into position."

All the boy could manage was a soft whimper of agreement. Immediately Bartholomew began to methodically pull on the ropes until there was a noticeable tug against Alex' feet. He stopped and double-checked everything, the ropes, the frame, at last making sure the boy's leather cuffs were snug and would not be digging in to his skin too harshly.

"Hold his shoulders, lift him gently," Bartholomew told me as he continued to take the slack out of the ropes. Alex' legs were already being raised off the floor. My boy sighed when he felt my hands, and he put his head back so he could look at me as I bent over to support him. He gave me a little smile to let me know it was all right.

The pulleys began to squeak as the ropes took more and more of the boy's diminutive weight. Soon I could feel Alex leaving the ground. His cute little rear end was in the air now. I was holding him tightly and lifting him slowly as the pulleys took him up. He wiggled a bit in my gentle grip, but with his arms trussed tightly behind him, he was quite helpless.

And then, after several slow minutes of starts and stops, Bartholomew gave one last hard pull, which straightened the boy's lean body and took his breath away. "Let him go," he said.

I did. And Alex swung free by his ankles.

Chapter 25
Suffering Artist

"Calm down, Alex," Bartholomew said gently, running his hands over the boy's right leg. I did the same for his left. "You're perfectly secure. Don't be afraid."

Alex closed his eyes tightly. I put my hands on either side of his narrow hips and gave him a little push, watching him swing back and forth like a piece of meat on a hook. Several minutes were allowed to pass in this fashion, and then, at Bartholomew's instruction, I released the boy's arms and lowered them slowly. Alex' fingertips just barely grazed the floor. If you listened carefully enough, you could just hear them scraping. Finally I removed the harness, exposing his chest and back.

"Just one more thing," Bartholomew said, "and we'll be ready."

One more thing' was a wooden yoke, square and hinged and about two feet [60 cm] long on every side with a sizeable hole for the neck.

"An antique from China," Bartholomew explained. "I'm quite proud of it." He opened it by its single ornate hinge and fitted it carefully around Alexander's slender neck. "Don't panic," he told him soothingly, as Alex tensed and struggled once more. "It has some weight to it, but it won't choke you. Just as with your master, you will always be safe with me."

Bartholomew clicked the lock in place on the opposite side, and Alex was now yoked. Aside from its obvious humiliating affect, it would also prevent him from moving his head or looking up to see what was happening to him. Alex could only gaze straight ahead at the unfamiliar faces of masters and slaves he'd never met.

"Try to open your eyes, Alex," I heard Bartholomew say.

I knelt down a bit and saw my boy's beautiful hazel orbs flutter open. Hanging upside-down, his surroundings must have seemed strange and disorienting. Normal things take on a very different impression when one's perspective has changed so dramatically. Alex blinked rapidly at first and moved his eyes quickly from side to side. The boy discovered he could turn his head in the yoke from left to right, he just could not move it up or down.

And then, suddenly, he broke into a wild fit of laughter. At first I thought the boy poor boy was freaking out, and by the reaction of others in the room I wasn't the only one, but then his laughing died down to a boyish giggle and he told me, "Everyone looks so funny! All upside-down like that!"

"Sweetie, you're the one 3;"

"I know, I know," he said with thirteen-year-old aplomb, "but it helps if I think of it the other way around."

My clever Alex.

Bartholomew selected a long knotted cat and stood before the boy. All Alex could see of him was his booted feet. It was a strange scene. This man was not quite old enough to be our grandfather, but still the contrast between the gray-haired master and the hairless young boy was striking.

"Alex, I'm going to whip you now. As hard and as long as I wish. The only thing that will stop me is your safeword. It is my intention to make you use it. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," came a brave but truly frightened response. The boy's cock was painfully erect, kept in that state by the leather strap tied tightly around it.

Bartholomew turned his eyes to me. "Does the boy have permission to cum?"

"He does," I said without hesitation.

"Then he shall."

It began with a few gentle and loving strokes of Alexander's penis administered by firm, expert hands. The boy shivered and moaned as the pleasure washed over him. Tied off as it was, his cock had swollen to an unnatural thickness, such a large organ for such a lean and slender boy. His young hairless balls had turned a nice shade of purple. Bartholomew gave them each a firm squeeze as he continued to force Alex' foreskin up and down over the dark, glistening crown. The boy's juices were flowing freely, as they always did when the little man got excited. A single line of clear pre-cum was dangling from the tip of his cock, hanging in mid-air, working its way slowly toward the ground. The boy's breathing was coming in raspy pants now, and he was moaning loudly. He was getting close.

Bartholomew stopped just short of letting Alex cum. Then he went to work with the cat. It whistled through the warm humid air and cracked sharply against the boy's stomach. No gentle introductions, instead a hard and cruel and excruciating demonstration of pain that was only just beginning. Alex gasped and moaned, but did not cry out. Bartholomew gave him another one, even harder than the first.

Alex grunted and hissed through clenched teeth.

Another one, across his chest. This one leaving immediate welts. And another immediately after, wrapping the lashes of the cat around his thighs.

The boy writhed sharply in his bonds and moaned again, the pitch of his voice quite a bit higher than before.

"Think you're not going to cry for me, don't you, Alex?" Bartholomew asked in a tone that somehow reflected both softness and extraordinary malice.

Alex just hung there in silence for a moment. Then I heard him whisper, "I won't ever cry for you, sir," under his breath.

A blatant challenge from a thirteen-year-old boy. Bartholomew's eyes lit up with a purposeful fire. I knew Alex had just made a big mistake. 'Never dare a sadist,' would become one of his favorite sayings, a lesson well and painfully learned this day.

The cat sang in the air once more, cracking against the boy's abdomen. Alex screamed for the first time, loud and high and piercing. The scream of a boy. The scream of a child. Soon his screams were coming in quick succession, the echo of the last not quite dying before the next took its place, and always accompanied by the sound of nine slender strands of leather upon tender young skin. The boy's front side, from his thighs to his chest, was covered in dark red lines and angry welts. Alex was heaving and gasping and groaning between shrieks of agony. He flinched instinctively now, every time he heard the whistle and snap of the leather.

For me, simply standing there, observing his suffering, rather than inflicting it myself, was a profoundly difficult, yet profoundly satisfying experience. I knew, every bit was well as Alex himself did, that he could twist me and turn me in practically any direction he liked. Alex was the master where those kinds of things were concerned. When he wanted it hard, he worked it out so he got it that way, delivered by my own loving hands. When he wanted it soft, the same. Being aware of the fact did little to change it.

This was different. Bartholomew was not going to play the boy's clever little games. All three of us knew it, although Alex was likely the last to figure it out. He clenched his fists tightly as Bartholomew walked around behind him, allowing the cat to drag along the floor. Just the sound of it was enough to leave the boy shaking.

Before the blows resumed, Bartholomew reached around and again took the thirteen-year-old's penis into his hands. This time the strokes were harsh and fast, his grip tight and unrelenting. Alex whined plaintively as his sensitive young cock was roughly abused. Of course with the yoke around his neck, he could not look up to see what was happening, but he could feel those cruel invisible hands working his most tender flesh. I could tell by my boy's weak, almost frantic groans, that he was not enjoying himself very much.

"Why aren't you cumming, Alex?" Bartholomew asked in a wicked voice. He slapped the boy's cock, hard. Alex yelped and wiggled his hips, earning him yet another slap. I thought I heard the first little sob issue from his throat, but Bartholomew wanted more. He picked up the cat and began working on the boy's backside. A new round of screams began.

It was not savage or violent as one might expect, and that, of course, was the secret of its great cruelty. Slow. Cold. Controlled. Meticulous. Each blow an individual work of art by the master handling the lash, each designed to inflict maximum pain with minimal force. I watched them carefully, the aging sadist and the child masochist as they slowly lost themselves in their natural roles. With every scream, every high-pitched little wail, every mournful whimper, it seemed Alex was speaking in a language all his own, one very few would ever understand. Most would turn away in pity, but Bartholomew only increased the frequency and severity of the lessons he was administering.

All the while the boy's erection remained in plain view, dripping and throbbing.

Bartholomew finally tossed aside the cat and selected a long, fearsome whip. Alex, naturally, could not see it coming, but he did sense it. I watched him tense as it was drawn back for the first time. It tore into his back with unbelievable force, causing the boy to jerk and swing violently in his bonds. There was no scream, for the pain had taken Alex' breath away.

I walked round behind the frame and could see the slender welts and deep bruises left by the cat. The first mark of the whip was also there, right across the small of his back, red as fire. Then it snapped through the air again, landing on the boy's badly beaten behind, already a deep shade of crimson. I watched for several more minutes as the whip did its work. Bartholomew was less swift with the blows now, allowing the boy more time to recover. It was a small gesture of tenderness I suspected he would not have given for one older or more experienced.

Still Alex was close to hysterics. And he was indeed crying, fitfully, desperately. It was a strangely beautiful sound, echoing through the large building. I suddenly noticed that it was the only sound I could hear. Everything else had stopped, and those present, masters and slaves alike, were watching the boy's ordeal in utter silence. Alex hung there by his ankles, battered and beaten and sobbing, and we all knew it was not over.

Bartholomew did not gloat over his victory; rather, he acknowledged the boy's tears with a gentle loving squeeze of his cute young feet. Alex sniffled and whimpered. Then the cat was drawn up again to rain its master's fury down upon the helpless boy with renewed vigor.

"Ahhaaa," Alex groaned. "No. No, please stop. Please."

The first coherent words Alex had managed to say in quite some time.

And another round of blows swiftly and harshly delivered.

"Please! It hurts so bad!"

Bartholomew stopped, but only to look at me from behind Alex' bruised and welted body. The boy glistened with sweat, and he was swinging gently forward and back on the ropes, a residual motion from the brutal force of the last blow. His slender arms dangled limp and lifeless, his fingers grazed the floor.

"Master Steven, your boy is making far too much noise. If you would be so kind as to gag him, we will continue."

I'd set the ball-gag aside earlier. It was there with the rest of his gear, not far from the frame. I picked it up and knelt down in front of him. The boy's eyes were swollen from exhaustion and filled with anguish.

"Please don't," he begged me softly, but he did not resist as I opened his mouth and stuffed the ball inside. I reached behind his head and buckled the straps tightly. He wiggled in protest as best he could, and then Bartholomew did indeed continue, once again with the whip. It curled around his thighs, and cracked against his back, forcing a new chorus of anguished cries from the boy's throat. The brief pause seemed to have given Alex his lungs back, and he screamed under the lash with renewed strength.

When finally the boy was reduced to sobs and whimpers, Bartholomew cast the whip aside and took the thirteen-year-old's swollen cock into his hands again. Alex hissed and cried out through his gag. He writhed and shook violently in his bonds. With his nerves whipped raw and his mind flashing with pain, the mere touch to his penis was electric. Before long, Bartholomew had the boy grunting and gasping and curling his toes.

"You're going to cum now, Alex," he said softly.

And he did. Alex let out a frantic little wail, muffled by the gag, then shot his young sperm in violent spasms. The boy's entire body shuddered as the contractions of ejaculation swept over him. Then his muscles went limp and he hung there, spent and panting and crying quietly to himself.

His was not the only voice. I was suddenly aware of a rising chorus of murmurs and whispers, all in praise and appreciation of this brave young boy, my brother, my slave. I'd quite forgotten that Alex had drawn a crowd, lost just as he was in his exquisite torment. Now I turned and faced them and met the approving gestures of other masters. Several stepped forward and shook my hand, congratulating me on training Alex so well and so quickly. Then they would pause and gaze at the slender boy suspended by his ankles, admiring the colorful collection of bruises and welts that covered him from his chest to his ankles. Blue and purple and deep red, Bartholomew had used the boy's body as a living canvas for his special art, and Alex, who would wear those marks with pride, was still sobbing, softly.

With an unspoken gesture, Bartholomew indicated it was time to get the boy down. The yoke come off first. Quite a bit of the boy's cum had fallen upon it. The boy's genitals were untied next, the release of pressure allowing one last tiny stream of sperm to dribble out. I removed his gag. He'd bitten down so hard from the pain that it bore the marks of his teeth from that day forward.

"No talking," I told him, but I knew my Alex was incapable of words at the moment. A little moan was the only sound he made.

Beaten and battered as he was, getting him upright again proved a difficult task. He cried out for a moment and struggled against my touch as I gently lifted his neck and shoulders, bending him at the waist, his legs still above his head. Once I had him under control, Bartholomew released the ropes and slowly lowered him to the ground.

Alex gasped when his backside first touched the cold floor. He lay there quietly, with his arms at his sides, wiggling his fingers and clenching them into loose fists, staring up at the bondage frame, blinking his beautiful eyes in a slow thoughtful rhythm. I'd seen him perform this ritual before at the end of our scenes, his way of absorbing all that had happened and calming himself. I knelt beside him and ran my hands gently through his hair, soaked with sweat. I kissed him on his sweet little nose and he smiled for me.

"You really are something," I said. And I meant it. Alex slowly moved his arm toward me, and I took his hand. He closed his eyes and held on tightly. I thought about that light and unsure grip I remembered from five years ago, when I first took him back home, and how so much had changed. I gave his hand a firm squeeze and he squeezed back.

Bartholomew stood over us both, and again he was the kindly gentleman we'd first encountered. "We should get him on his feet," he said to me gently. "Have the boy walk around, then you can lay him down for a while. There are suites on the second floor, I'll see that one is made ready for you."

Alex gave no sign of protest as we slowly sat him up. His breathing had slowed to a less frantic pace now, but it was still quick and shallow.

"Deep breaths, Alex," I said. "Take your time."

Once he seemed to be more in control, Bartholomew and I each put a hand under his arms and raised him to his feet. Alex groaned and winced, and he swayed awkwardly from side to side, his beautiful legs barely able to support his weight. I rubbed his shoulders. He leaned his head back against my chest.

"Come on, sweetie, walk around." I pushed Alex gently to get him moving. I kept a close eye on him but let him choose his own course. He walked around the bondage frame, studying it with tired young eyes, casually running his fingers over the wooden supports. It seemed to hold more of a fascination for him now than it had before. Alex bent over slowly, grimacing from the pain, and picked up the cat-o-nines where Bartholomew had dropped it. It was slightly longer than the one he and I always used, the leather straps a bit thinner, the knotted ends a bit smaller and tighter. Holding the grip in his left hand, he gently played the straps around his thighs and over his cock and balls. He inspected it closely, fingering the leather and feeling its weight in his hand. Finally with a self-satisfied nod, he put it back on the empty hook on the wooden frame and made his way back to me.

During this time Bartholomew had disappeared, and I noticed so too had all of Alex' gear. I was just taking the boy gently into my arms when the old gentleman returned. I spun my boy around tenderly to face him, but I still kept my arms around his shoulders, noticeably broader than they had been at the start of this wild and amazing summer neither of us would ever forget.

The experienced sadist stood before my tired young masochist and offered his hand. Alex took it with a smile, sincere, if weakened by exhaustion.

"You've got mettle, young man," Bartholomew said. "I nearly broke a sweat. Next time there will be no holding back. Clear?"

With wide awestruck eyes Alex slowly nodded his head.

Bartholomew then handed me a key. "Upstairs, third door on your right. I've taken all his things up already. You'll find some lotions for him on the nightstand. Take as long as you like. The room is yours for the duration. There's always something going on, so don't worry about missing any of the fun."

I handed the key to Alex and then took his hand. Together we headed for the stairs at the far end of the carriage house. There were still a few masters and slaves loitering about as we retired, and of course the collection of naked young men chained to the wall. None of them had moved since we arrived.

"I enjoyed hearing you scream, Alex," Bartholomew said darkly from behind, firing his last calculated blow at the boy. Alex trembled and turned his head for just a moment. I didn't see my boy's eyes, but I did see Bartholomew's, and I knew that a challenge had just been made and accepted. Alex didn't say a word. He pressed his sore and tired body against me, as close as the pain would allow, and I helped him stagger up the steps.

Our room was indeed a suite, with a comfortable sitting area, a spacious bathroom with sunken tub, a modest kitchenette, and of course a large bedroom. It was softly lit throughout and decorated in a modern style with sleek, clean-lined furniture and contrasting colors. We both smiled at each other when we entered, for it was clear Bartholomew had chosen this room specifically for its bright d‚cor, a perfect fit for a thirteen-year-old boy.

"Would you like a bath first?" I asked, as I held his head against my chest, fingering one of the silvery rings on his collar. He looked up at me and blinked his tired eyes once. I pulled gently pulled him along and he followed me into the bathroom.

"Start the water, Alex."

He did. The steam began to rise immediately.

"Undress me."

He did. Sore and covered in bruises and welts, he did. I was hard and dripping instantly.

"Do you want this?" I asked, taking the boy's hand and wrapping it around my cock. He nodded slowly and a little tear ran down his cheek.

"Kneel."

That was harder for him. He winced and whimpered as he dropped to his knees.

"Pleasure your master."

Words Alex had heard from me before, but never after he had endured so much pain or been so completely worn out and exhausted. He took me into his mouth. It was dry from screaming, but his tongue was soft and warm and wonderful. A small chorus of muffled boyish groans began as he worked my cock deeper and deeper down his throat. I could tell he was tired and struggling just to stay on his knees, but he did his best. I laid my hands on his shoulders and massaged him gently.

"Don't let me cum, save it for later."

"Mmmmph."

For several minutes he kept me on the edge, until I finally had to make him stop. I helped him stand up again and drew him close, careful not to hug him too tightly. Still he whimpered when I put my right arm around him. I reached down and cupped my left hand around his balls, kneading them in their loose hairless scrotum. He shuffled his feet and moved closer, enduring the silent anguish of his welted skin pressed again mine. Another whimper came as I gently brushed against his soft penis. It twitched involuntarily. I laid Alex' five inches [12½ cm] of flesh across the palm of my hand and gently rubbed it with my thumb. Still velvety soft like a boy's should be, but thick and substantial, a beautiful organ for a beautiful young man of thirteen.

I raised his tired eyes to my own and kissed him on the lips. His tongue danced playfully with mine as I let his penis flop back down against his balls and worked my hand delicately over his stomach and chest, causing him to take a sharp breath. I stopped to play with his nipples. They hardened instantly at my light touch. Then I bent over and took the left one into my mouth.

"Aaahh," he sighed as I bit down gently.

After both were given the same treatment for several minutes, I stood over him again, still nearly a foot [30 cm] taller than the growing boy.

"Bend over, Lexi."

He did, and I gently tugged on his butt-plug, loosening him a bit first before I pulled it out with a single motion. Alex grunted and gave me a high-pitched little squeal. As always, cleaning the plug was his responsibility. He took it to the sink and washed it off without having to be told. By the time the boy was finished, the water was warm and steamy in the sunken tub. I fished my keys from the pocket of my jeans, lying crumpled on the floor, and unlocked the boy's cuffs. Alex stood as straight and still as he could, but his young body was quivering now from exhaustion. I set the boy's restraints aside, and last removed his collar.

"Get in the tub, sweetie."

Alex stepped in gingerly, giving me a good look at the deep bruises that covered his behind and the backs of his thighs. The welts on his back were already fading a little, turning from their angry red to a soft pink. He didn't quite know what to do with himself once he was in the water. Sitting down was not something he'd be able to do for quite some time.

I got in after him, then gently pulled the boy down in front of me, setting him between my legs, letting him rest his tortured back against my chest. He sighed and lay his head back onto my shoulder. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing soft and quiet. I rubbed his arms and held his hands.

After a leisurely soak, I got him up and dried him off with great care. Then we walked hand in hand to the bedroom. I lay him across the bed on his stomach. He looked at me with hopeful, loving eyes. I lay down beside him for just a moment, caressing his back. Alex winced and whimpered and let out a long sigh.

"Are you alright?" I asked. "I want the truth."

The boy nodded slowly into his pillow. I ran a finger softly around his ear, then massaged the back of his neck. There was a bottle of lotion on the small table beside us. I squeezed a liberal amount into my hands and worked it slowly into his back. It smelled faintly of sweet pine, and Alex breathed in the vapors deeply. He flinched now and again at my touch, but I was careful to be light and gentle with him, applying the cooling, healing lotion, and pausing often to hold his hand.

When the boy was nearly asleep, I squeezed his shoulder firmly and left the bed. "Don't move," I told him. Alex let out one of those ironic little laughs that only boys of thirteen can manage convincingly. Briefly I explored the bedroom, not at all surprised to find the large mahogany armoire filled with all variety of fun toys for use on a young slave. I selected a rather mean looking dildo, thick and twisted with a large bulbous end. And then a harsh pair of nipple clamps for later.

Alex was breathing softly when I returned, but I saw his eyes flutter and knew he was still awake. I raised his head, tenderly but firmly, and took the pillow away. He dropped his head weakly onto the mattress and I worked the pillow under his stomach, raising his rear end a bit higher. The old bed creaked as we moved around, and he moaned softly. Instinctively he spread his legs, and I gave the backs of his thighs a little pat of affection.

"Good boy," I said, as I lubed the dildo, making sure a few drops fell onto his back, just to let him know what was coming. I held the frightful looking thing before his tired eyes as he lay with his head turned to one side. "Do you want this?" I asked.

I honestly couldn't tell if the muffled sound that escaped was a yes or a no, but of course his answer would not have changed anything. My index finger was nice and slippery from the lube, and I stuck it into his quivering boy-hole, all the way down to the knuckle, with no resistance at all. The larger plug had opened him nicely, and I worked one, then two, then finally three fingers inside him. Alex wiggled and groaned, then gave me a plaintive little cry when I pulled out. I moved close and licked my tongue around his opening, enjoying the fragrant musky smell of a very young teenaged boy.

Alex gasped and trembled. My tongue had touched just about every part of his body over the past two months, but this was something new and exciting. I only gave him a few brief seconds of this pleasure, just enough to make him long for it when it was taken away. From the sound he made, I knew he was not happy that I stopped.

"You have to earn your pleasure from now on, Lexi," I said sharply. "Pain on the other hand 3;" And I forced the dildo inside him. His head left the mattress and he screamed in agony. It was an enormous prong for a boy so young to take, but seven of its ten inches [18 of 25 cm] were quickly inside him, its thick round head no doubt causing endless torment to his already over-stimulated prostate. I left it in him like that for a minute or so while I worked my hands roughly between his legs and played with his cock and balls.

"Don't you dare get hard," I told him, knowing it was an impossible demand to make of a thirteen-year-old boy. Which was, of course, exactly why I said it.

For the next half-hour I casually abused him with the dildo. Sometimes hard and fast, causing him to writhe and sob and shout, sometimes slow and gentle, causing him to moan and coo in delight, sometimes just leaving it in him, making him wonder when it would start again. After that first thirty minutes, as he lay panting and trembling, I once again reached beneath him, and there, of course, I felt a six-inch [15 cm] hard boy-cock pressed and throbbing against the pillow.

"What did I tell you?" I scolded him a low menacing voice. "You will be punished."

"I can't help it, master," he said, his newly pubescent voice crackling awkwardly.

Immediately I gave him a hard spanking, the dildo still inside him driven yet deeper as my hands rained down upon his already bruised and welted behind. I only gave him twenty, but in his current state it was enough to drive him into a new round of frantic screams and cries.

"That was for speaking without permission," I explained after he'd calmed down. "We'll deal with your erection later." I pulled the dildo out of him and let it fall onto the floor with a thud. Without allowing him a moment's pause, I entered him and gave my boy a good long fuck. The only sounds around us were the creaking of the bed and his soft moans as he lay beneath me. I sped up as I got closer to the edge, and soon we were both panting and groaning. Alex was grinding his slender hips into the pillow. I knew what he was doing, and he'd have to pay a price for it later, but for now we were both deeply and truly lost in one another. I felt Alex' muscles tense as I came inside him, and he cried out as he spilled his seed, his second orgasm of the day.

I pulled out and rolled him onto his back. His cock, already softening, flopped against his thigh, five inches [12½ cm] of horny, beautiful thirteen-year-old flesh, wet and shiny with his young juices. Alex looked at me with dancing eyes. I crawled closer to him and presented my cock, close to his face.

"Clean it."

Bless his young heart, he was actually confused. He looked around for a rag. I moved myself closer until my dick was almost touching his lips. Then he understood and his eyes filled with dread.

"Use your tongue, Lexi."

This was clearly something he did not want to do, but he bravely raised his head and opened his mouth. I felt is warm wet tongue lapping timidly against my cock. The mere thought of him licking his own shit and my cum off the flesh that had just been used to roughly fuck him was quite a turn on. I grabbed a handful of his short chestnut-brown hair, damp with sweat, and pressed myself yet closer.

"You'll have to do better than that."

I felt the boy suppressing a gag, and then he went to work with renewed focus. His eyes were tightly closed. I could tell Alex was hating every moment of this, but he did it, because he was a slave, and his master had given him an order. After a few minutes, I gently pushed him away. My dick was wet with Alex' saliva, and perfectly clean. His hands were shaking as he stared at me. There was a look of shock, and even, was it, yes, a little anger, on his sweet young face.

"You hate me right now, don't you?" I asked.

He turned his face away from me.

"Answer me when I ask you a question, Alex. Speak."

His voice was low and quiet when he finally answered. "Yes, sir."

"'Yes, sir', what?"

"Yes, sir, I hate you right now."

"Good. How does that make you feel? Hating me."

Alex was silent for a moment. Then he turned his beautiful eyes on me once again. They were blazing. "Makes me feel like I want to tell you to fuck off and leave me alone, or something like that."

"Then why don't you?"

"You know why," he answered sharply.

"Watch that tone, young man. Tell me why."

"Because I'm a slave. It doesn't matter if I love you or hate you. I'm your slave." The emphasis on 'your' was unmistakable.

"And I can do whatever I want to you, can't I?"

"Yes, sir."

"Lie down on your back."

He did. I took the nipple clamps from the side table and crawled over him so that we were face to face. Alex was still so small and slender beneath me. Leisurely I rubbed the boy's little dime-sized nubs, suckled them and bit down gently. They were hard and glistening with moisture when I opened the first of the clamps and closed it slowly around his left nipple. Alex hissed and jerked wildly beneath me. A firm hand on his chest made him lie still again. I placed the second clamp in the same fashion as the first. They were a rather nasty set, with tiny metal teeth designed to dig into the soft pink flesh.

"Do they hurt?" I taunted cruelly.

"Awwwwhahh, goddammit, yes!" Alex thrashed his head from side to side as tears began to run from his eyes. I sat back, resting my weight on the boy's shapely legs, watching the taut lean muscles in his stomach contract has he struggled to breathe against the pain. I circled my fingers around his cute little navel, sending the ticklish boy into spasms of anguished laughter. In that moment his body seemed so tight I thought he might snap, every muscle was tensed and hard as steel. In fact only one part of his anatomy was soft at the moment, and I had to smile at that.

I worked his balls for a while, rolling them around in my hands, kneading them gently, squeezing them with just enough pressure to cause him a bit of pain. They had always hung nice and low in their loose velvety sack, even when he was eight or nine years old they'd dangle around sexily between his little legs. Now they were heavy, and he had reached that age where they seemed to be growing larger and hanging lower each and every day. I licked them and took one then the other into my mouth. Alex gasped in delight and spread his legs a little wider, always my signal that I'd given him enough to leave him desperate and frustrated.

With the clamps still in place, I worked on his bare feet for a while, alternating between gentle loving massages, and fierce relentless tickling, the combination of which left the boy in a state of near panic. I ended by kissing each of his ten young toes.

"Take a deep breath, sweetheart," I said, as I took the clamp on his right nipple between my fingers. Alex locked his eyes on me and obeyed. I removed it quickly, the harsh gripping metal teeth releasing their hold. I expected a shout or a cry, but all the boy could manage was an exhausted whimper. The other clamp came off in the same manner, eliciting the same response. I kissed him on the cheek, placed the pillow still wet with his cum beneath his head, and covered him with the sheets and blankets.

"Get some rest, Alex," I said. The boy was already asleep by the time I reached the sitting room. I could hear him moaning softly through the open door.

It was just early afternoon, yet it seemed we'd been here a full day already. Alex and I had both noticed from the very start of our new lifestyle that time moves at a different pace when one is deeply involved in a scene, something we would often comment on as the years went by. There would be times when minutes spent in the dungeon turned out to be many long hours, and others, when the pain was new or particularly hard for him, where hours were really but a few minutes.

Alex definitely needed some down time though, so I contented myself with a warm cup of tea from the little kitchenette, and a leisurely rest on the sofa, scanning several of the photo books laid out for the guests' enjoyment. I was about to drift off myself, when I heard a polite knock on the door. I set my tea aside and opened it to find Robert and Michael with warm, knowing smiles on their faces, and beside them Samuel Collins and young Sebastian. Stark naked young Sebastian I might add. The eleven- year-old boy was on all fours and wearing only a studded leather collar around his slender neck. He was leashed to a decorative bracelet around his master's wrist.

I gestured them all inside, Robert and Michael first, Sam with his redheaded nephew in tow. As the boy passed me on his hands and knees, I got a nice look at a cute pale little ass, currently plugged, and a set of tiny but low-hanging balls swinging in a soft pink scrotum. A glint of metal caught my eye and I had to look again. There was a golden ring piercing Sebastian's scrotum. Quite alluring, but I did not yet know it's true significance. This was the first time I had ever seen Sebastian naked, and my first chance to truly appreciate the delicate vine of barbed wire tattooed around his narrow waist. Normally it was hidden by the locking leather shorts, which Samuel seemed to keep the boy in at all times. I whistled in admiration. Rob and Sam both smiled. I'd already made up my mind that Alex wasn't leaving here without a bit of Samuel's artwork somewhere on his young body. Something small and inconspicuous so he wouldn't be embarrassed, but something that would always serve to remind him that he was a slave.

Robert took the comfortable chair I offered, and Samuel followed suit. Michael knelt humbly at his master's side, relieved it seemed to be off his feet, which I later learned had been beaten quite ruthlessly earlier in the day. Samuel tugged firmly on Sebastian's leash, and the boy stood up. Like Alex he's a muscular little kid, although just barely four feet [1.20 m] tall. Shapely arms and sturdy legs, and a lean flat stomach, clearly the product of strict diet and stricter exercise.

Sebastian stood with his feet wide apart, and his hands clasped behind his back. Samuel released the boy's leash and let it hang free from his collar. Surveying him from head to toe, I paused at his little boy-cock. Well, not so little actually, average size for a boy of eleven I suppose, but I had grown so accustomed over the last few years to Lexi's rather large endowment, that even a healthy youngster like Sebastian appeared small by comparison. He was circumcised, and pierced, and I quickly realized the ring in his scrotum was also the same one I was looking at now at the tip of his penis.

"A little chastity piercing," Doctor Collins explained. "Simple and effective. Take a closer look if you like. Seb."

Immediately the boy moved closer to me. I knelt down to examine his hairless genitals. The ring was small, only about a half inch [1¼ cm] in diameter. It was open on one end, so it clearly could be removed whenever Samuel wished. It had the effect of pulling the boy's cock downward and under his balls just a bit. Erection was simply impossible and orgasm out of the question.

The pants. The ring. Sebastian was being raised in total chastity. I stared at Samuel in amazement, and just a little dismay. It was not something I would ever choose for Alex. I might threaten him with it on occasion, to put some fear into him, but never actually dream of doing it, or imagine that it could be done.

"He uses it for only one thing," the doctor said with a satisfied grin. "Sebastian, what is your penis for?"

The boy stood up straight and looked his master in the eye. "For urinating, sir."

"Anything else?"

"No, sir."

"I remove the ring once a week," Collins went on to explain, "and make him keep an erection for four or five hours 3; "

I wondered just exactly how that was done.

" 3; I want to make sure he can still get hard, not that he'll ever have any reason to."

There is a dark side to Samuel Collins that shows forth at certain times. At the moment he was actually beginning to frighten me, just a little. But then he smiled and pulled Seb onto his lap and gently rubbed the boy's back.

"Of course once he starts having wet dreams, I'll have to be a bit more flexible, but it's just a habit I'm training him in."

They embraced and shared a loving kiss, then Sam quietly ordered the boy back on all fours, which is how he would remain for the rest of the day. Seb was adorable, and we all gave him a little smile, which he happily returned. Robert then rested his gray eyes on me.

"Everyone is talking about Alex' performance with Bartholomew this morning. Is it true he didn't use his safeword?"

I nodded, only just now appreciating the boy's rather incredible feat of strength and bravery. "It's true."

"Amazing. I should tell you the young man has quickly become a celebrity here. Everyone is asking when they'll be seeing him again. Wim would like to introduce him to the group this evening, before the hunt, naturally."

The hunt. The twinkle in Robert's eyes told me Alex would be more than just the guest of honor. I looked back into the darkened room where my sweet boy lay sleeping. The debate in my heart was real. I wanted the boy to experience as much as he could here, but I wasn't sure this was something I should force him to do. Robert, as always, seemed to read my doubts, and had his usual logical and masterful answer.

"It's really nothing more than an initiation for a novice slave," he explained. "Not exactly a friendly one, but Michael went through it. Sebastian did as well, and he was only eight at the time, weren't you, little one?"

Seb looked up at his master for permission, then nodded silently.

"Tell Master Steven all about it, Seb," Doctor Collins commanded in his gentle, but unmistakably final way.

The boy sat up, but obediently kept his hands and knees flat on the floor. He gazed at me with bright, vibrant green eyes. "Well, sir," he began in the subtle remains of a British accent, "I was naked, like I am now, and I got chased all over 3; by other masters. They had whips, and a great big net, and sticks, sir, there were sticks, long ones. I never did get caught, sir. I made it back to my master." And at those words he leaned against Samuel's leg for comfort, and received it with a gentle caressing hand on his back.

"Only boy who's ever gotten back to his master, Steven," Robert said in sincere appreciation. "But then Seb is a clever little devil. So is Alex. He'll do very well. No harm will come to him. A few cuts and scrapes in the wood maybe, but he will be perfectly safe. I supervise these little escapades myself, and you have my word."

Robert's word has always been good enough, and it was this day as well.

"Where should I bring him, and when?" I asked, my decision made.

Both of my older companions and mentors smiled softly. Robert answered. "Seven o'clock this evening. Have him in the main pavilion. He should be naked."

Robert proceeded to explain everything to me, but of course Alex was to know only that he was being hunted, and that whoever caught him would get to use him for the rest of the night, any way he saw fit, without his master around to intervene. It was a complete fabrication of course, but it would give the boy incentive not to get caught, and make him somewhat more sporting prey.

"If he does make it back to me, I must assume there's some reward in store for him."

"No," Samuel answered. "Making it back to his master's loving arms is reward enough for any slave, wouldn't you agree?"

I had to admit I liked his thinking, but Robert had another more interesting thought.

"There should be a reward alright," his tone was positively wicked, "something that will test him to his absolute limits."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked.

"Ha. No, no, Steven," he waved a playful finger at me. "You are his master, you decide. I won't have that boy hating me!"

It came to me suddenly, something we'd already played around with a bit, but never done seriously. "I want to keep him awake, no sleep at all, just torture and punishment and training, and all the sex he can take."

Robert's eyes lit up. "How long were you thinking of doing it?"

"I don't know. How long is safe for a boy his age? Three days?"

"Let's try five," Samuel suggested.

I did the math in my head. Five days would take us through the rest of the week, and Alex would still have the weekend to recover for the start of school. I agreed on the spot, and then of course the complexity of the situation struck me.

"I'm going to need some help."

"You'll have it," Robert replied. "Samuel and I, and the boys here. Two of us should always be up with him, in case he gets into real trouble. I'll have Michael work out a schedule. We'll start after the hunt is over, regardless of how it turns out."

"Alex is already exhausted," I said. "The next five days are going to be interesting."

"In more ways than you know," Robert replied with a devilish wink.