Scrimshaw & Zelamir

Tribute Boys

A Fantasy in Just One of Our Possible Futures

Book One

The Hacienda de los Niños Tributos del Ezzaro

Are you sitting comfortably and in private?
Then let us begin 3;

Chapter 1

Preface

Drastic measures were necessary, the G7 group of multinationals declared withdrawal of support for any national government who did not pass the Tribute Laws, most did with enthusiasm, a few idealists like Cuba tried to resist but eventually were forced to comply. The law is complex and required much military action to enforce, the history of which does not concern this story.

The essence of this Law is as follows.

Male Units of Population Resource below the age of seven years are regarded as Children and receive state assistance to help with their rearing. This includes compulsory schooling from age four culminating in the Assessment of Utilisation Potential grading them from A+ to E-. There are however strict rules as to how much non essential resources can be used on them. For instance their only clothing is to be a loincloth.

At the age of seven they are considered to be fully capable of agreeing to a binding contract, and are to be presented to the Community Recording Officer. In the event of guardian wishing to pay their Tribute in cash they are recorded and allowed to return home, to be presented annually in the same way, same payment, until their 14th birthday. They are in this case referred to as Candidates for Male Citizenship, popularly Fee Boys, in addition they have to satisfy minimum standards of health and education, clothing regulations and so on. They can proceed to Initiation after 14th birthday. Of course a guardian can also choose not to pay at any birthday and surrender his son in Tribute at a later date. Equally the State can pass a Judicial Order of Tribute on a boy breaking the law in some way. These measures are to ensure that there is no delinquency or vagrancy problems to trouble the wealthy.

If their guardian does not wish to pay he withdraws his son from school and by the same token the community, on the day before his seventh birthday and receives the boy's Assessment, this effects the amount he will receive in pension contributions as well as indicating the exact nature of the boys fate. The school Master who is also in charge of all aspects of welfare delivers a formal speech laying out a boys obligations and privileges under the Tribute System. The boy is then required to swear on oath his agreement, there is no appeal of failing to understand 3; Taken home he is stripped and his head shaven signifying his rejection from his family. On his birthday he is presented in Tribute. His guardian is presented with the same sum in gold, ten pieces, as the Tribute Tax for retaining him. In addition he receives a further gold piece for each grade in Assessment the boy has achieved. The boy is then identified by branding, fitted with a cheap collar with an identification number which includes his Assessment grade, and given a partial circumcision. He is then forwarded for processing, by the Central Population Resource Capitalisation and Social Security Directorate. Boys so processed are popularly referred to as Tribute Boys.

The Recording Officer is bound by his contract to deliver a Male Unit of Population Resource to its designated Contract Holder within seven days of branding. Units are to be in fresh marketable condition on delivery and have not been marked or utilised in anyway.

This is especial important when the source is a State using these Units to discharge their obligations to the International Banking Community. Recording Officers in States with these obligations should quickly identify Units that have qualities making them suitable for dispatch to Franchise Holders in the First World who can capitalise on the Units qualities.

Qualities desirable would include grace of form and features, artistic or sporting potential, but most importantly a strong spirit to break 3; And of course an A or B grade assessment 3;

A male guardian, in any event may only retain one Male Candidate for Citizenship over the age of fourteen capable of breeding. Excess numbers being gelded on that date by the Community Recording Officer, and passed on for processing by the Units of Nutritional Resource Corporation.

In the event of a guardian wishing to retain a gelded Candidate, a suitable Bond must be paid to ensure he is not a burden on the State and will adequately discharge his obligations as a consumer.

There are of course parallel statutes for Female Units of Population Resource, but that is not part of this story 3;

What is part of this story is The Effective Utilisation of Male Units of Population Resource Between the Ages of Seven and Fourteen Years 3;

Tribute Boys are eventually handed over to Franchise Holders, popularly called Tribute Masters, who are given a free hand under certain guidelines to maximise their investment. The sums of money paid for their Tribute Boys, is invested, less of course generous institutional expenses, to ensure a minimal pension for their guardian at the age of forty nine years. Differences in market value between various economic zones is utilised to pay off Third World Debt.

These Tribute Boys can be utilised in anyway that the Franchise Holder deems profitable, individuals can hold a Franchise for a given number of units from one upwards to two hundred. Corporate Franchise Holders up to seven hundred. The majority of Tribute Boys are utilised in manual labour producing desirable items for the International Consumer. Some are used in Service and Domestic industries. Other duties will of course be expected of them, but these are very much quick and squalid events in the poor communities where they are held. However the entertainment industry is one of the major areas of commercial enterprise in the world many Tribute Boys work in this. This includes a range of sports and contests where betting is also popular, and various artistic attainments, and satellite holo coverage, still popularly called TV, makes these very profitable.

A further asset of the Tribute System was that as it easily adapted to any religious or separatist fundamentalism that threatens the tranquilly of the state. It could be used to regulate and provide an outlet for their aggression. Quite simply conflicts can now be resolved by ritual combat between indoctrinated Tribute Boys belonging to the opposing factions, saving the general community all the destruction and damage to economic interests that plagued the 21st century, but allowing them to fully participate as spectators in the in the slaughter of the hated enemy factions; and to lick their wounded pride and train up another cadre of freedom fighters is they lost for a rematch.

Of course there are no limits placed on more explicit or personal performances expected from a Tribute Boy. Manual labour in these cases can be exploited as a training aid. The profits from his services, less the expenses of training him and feeding him are paid into his guardians pension fund. These sums can be quite large for exceptional demands or performances, transforming minimum pension into affluent old age.

The maximum utilisation of a Male Unit of Population Resource may in some instances leads to its temporary or permanent withdrawal from utilisation before its fourteen th birthday. In this event the beneficiaries of the performance or service being rendered at the time will pay the calculated amount of compensation into the Social Security Contract Fund. That fund will also sell insurance against this eventuality at attractive rates.

Franchise Holders are required of course provide suitably secure premises , often this is on large tracts of now useless farming land. And have to provide a basic minimum level of food and medical care. Unwarranted deaths and withdrawals from service will in time mean that the Franchise is not renewed.

Finally, on or before attaining the age of fourteen years a Tribute Boy, may request Release from his service in a manner of his choosing from certain options 3; This may also add considerably to the pension fund 3; 3; This has to be carried out before the fifteen birthday. His choices are;-

1. To make a Performance, or take part in a Sporting event that will in almost all cases cause his death. (In the case of an exceptional performance, or of exceptional artistic or intellectual talents, a pardon can be granted to live either as a full free citizen, this is fixed at a maximum statistical 1%. In this case he is expected to present his former Master with his first and second sons in gratitude. Or he can be pardoned as gelded free citizen). One of most popular events is the great Summer Games at the end of August, in essence the Tribute Boy is expected to kill himself in as entertaining and profitable way as possible, to remove the possibility of him breeding, and to ensure a steady drop in the population levels.

2. Gelding and some form of service. This could at the worst be some years in the fattening pens before being utilised, at best practising some skill, or wealthy patronage.

3. Gelding, himself, freedom of being dumped back in his own country / community without resources. This might be an option for a boy with a wealthy guardian, for the vast majority it is no option because they are then subject to local vagrancy laws.

You are called Mishear. you are in your 13th year, your parents raised you in a far off land full of heat and dust and poverty. You have never known clothes on your slim muscular body winter or summer since your father took you on his knee on your seventh birthday. He told you as the eldest son is was your duty to maintain your family and stand as tribute for their survival.

You both cried but there were no alternatives, the land agent had made it quite clear the immediate repayment of the debt was expected. He gently removed your loin cloth, the only permitted clothing of a boy before this special birthday, and shaved your head. You were bound and pushed outside to await the morning arrival of the Recording Officer.

In the cold hours just after dawn he led you naked, holding you tight by the hand, to the town square. There your loin cloths and your few possessions were burnt on the Recording Officers brazier, whilst the neighbours crowded round. As your existence faded into ashes the man withdrew the glowing brand, you were seized; held across the polished wood of the branding stock; your feeble squirming turned to agonised, screaming, thrashings as it was applied to your hip, forever identifying you as a Tribute Boy. Released you fell; still writhing in agony; into the pool of your own urine and faeces.

The crowd cheered and clapped, congratulated your father, The recording officer paid him the first of his tribute money in gold, a fortune of fifteen pieces, with the words of acknowledgement; "May your tribute bring you wealth, security and honour!" and added "Lucky man, a A grade brat! Some wealthy foreigner is going to have lots of fun with this one." His assistant riveted on the slim iron collar 3;

But that was long years of training and obedience ago, you still thrill to remember the roaring of an audience after the first of many classic performances as you lay, just as you had then, writhing, but then the agonies had been so much more, and the to the substances you lay in were added your own blood and his semen 3; Your long black straight hair is tied back with a ribbon; The collar you now are permitted is of an intricate wrought design as is the reward of your service and attainments. Your nipples are pierced with small golden rings, a gift from your adored Master, but that was a long time ago now, almost a long ago as the gift of the jewel studded chain round your waist, growing tighter daily it seems as your body thickens. Your fasting and training to the point of collapse seem no longer able to check your growth towards the terrors of maturity. Your whole being is consumed with the need to serve your Master, or his clients who choose to use you for his or her pleasure. From that moment of your father leading you as his naked Tribute, you have been trained only to serve, to perform, to suffer and to obey, even unto death. Your cock grows hard at the thought of the pain and how it brings you to the only orgasms you are permitted. Your dark body spasms, the scars paler in the moonlight. To pleasure yourself or permit another Tribute Boy to do so would be unthinkable as well as being rewarded by the most stringent sanction; castration of penis and testicles. Then there would be no more performances, no more tribute paid into your honoured fathers account, he might well be expected to replace you. Only fattening and going to the livestock market. But your master's clients have come for many months now without choosing you, always the younger ones now. Your rest is wracked by the distant screams from the Games Complex across the Stock Yard Compound. One of Tribute Boys who shares your sty is among the most fortunate ones chosen for this night. The other snuffles in his sleep at the other end of the wooden sleeping platform, too hot tonight to cuddle close for comfort. You long to know the true fulfilment of your destiny once more. You imagine how his golden body must be twisting under the lash and the depths he will be taken to. You weep for the loss of it, your uncircumcised penis hard against your belly seeps but there is no release.

This morning you removed three dark hairs from just above your penis, you looked carefully at your accounts, one really big performance might be sufficient. You know that the time has come for you to make the first free choice you are permitted, for most Tribute Boys it is to be their last as well. In the morning you resolve to beg for an audience with your Tribute Master to request he consider your release from service and give you his advice. Of course he will subject you to many agonies, but they will be so much more desirable than the pain of being ignored.

Lulled by the sound of the surf on the beach, you drift into an uneasy sleep, as you try to create the best final performance ever inside your exhausted, befuddled brain. Later you dream of how it all began 3; You begin to tell your story in your own words, but know that nobody will ever hear them.

Chapter 2

Mishear, the Indian dancing boy, begins to tell his story

Once when I was five the rains did not come and we were very hungry. My belly did not swell and my knees and my legs and arms did not grow as thin as sticks with my elbows and knees great ugly knobs. That happened to my three younger brothers and my little sister who died. My father told my mother that I must not starve what ever else happened. He said I was their future and must be fed.

There is a school but it is far away in another village and my father cannot afford to send me there. He has not the money and he needs me to help him work the few small fields that he rents. No one in our family can read or write.

My younger brothers are four and nearly six. My father says it is time for the older one, Bahji, to start helping him in the fields. I am glad about this. It means I will have to work less hard, and have somebody to play with between labour. I cannot understand why my mother cries.

On my birthday I woke early. I did not expect a present for we are too poor for that but my mother always tried to provide me with the same treat, a dish of mango with sweetened condensed milk. She had it waiting for me and I took it from her and smiled at her but still she cried and her eyes were red and my father too looked unhappy.

When I had finished the treat and thanked my mother, my father called me to him. He took me on his knee and holding me tight told me that he was offering me as a Tribute Boy. He explained that only from the money that he would receive for me would the future of the family be assured.

As he explained this to me, he wept and I turned my face to him and buried it in his threadbare shirt and cried. I cried because I was leaving my father and mother and brothers whom I loved and who loved me and I cried for fear.

Ours was a small village and not many boys had been taken from it as Tribute but enough for me to know what was about to be done to me.

I remembered a year ago at this time the excitement when the Recording Officer's land rover had rattled into the village. How we stood around and watched while his assistant had lit the charcoal brazier and taken the polished branding bench and irons from the back of the van. Then the excitement as little Vikki was lead into the village square by his father. Naked, crying and clutching in his free a hand a tiny bundle of possessions. How Vikki had stood there as they burnt his possessions as the tears caused down his face and how he had screamed when they had bent his naked body over the bench and applied the glowing iron to his bare rump. The sickly smell of burning boys flesh drowned in the stench of shit and pee as Vikki lost control of himself. How we had clapped and cheered as the recording officer handed Vikki's father the small bag of gold as the boy lay whimpering in his own filth in the dust. Now I was to experience this.

My father removed my loin cloth. My mother bundled my few possessions in it and gave it to me to carry. Then my father took me by the hand and lead me out into the village street. Naked I walked beside him towards the square where the villagers stood about. As we approached the people turned and watched and then parted to let us through.

I saw the recording officer standing there in front of me, a big fat man dressed in a suit and beside him his assistant also big but not at all fat, wearing a striped dhoti. Beside them was the brazier the branding iron buried in the glowing charcoal and the bench. I checked but my father holding me by the hand drew me firmly on. Now I stood in front of the officer. My small bundle was taken from me and thrown on the brazier, the flames flickered upwards for a moment and it was destroyed and with it my past. The officer spoke to my father. In my terror I could not make out what was said and then I was gripped and forced down over the bench. The pain tore through me. For a moment I thought I was going to choke to death as the agony paralysed my body and then through the darkness I heard myself screaming shrilly.

I do not know how long I lay there in the dust and my own filth. When the assistant hauled me to my feet the square was deserted except for the Land Rover and the recorder. The latter looked at me wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Why can't the little brutes exercise some self control," he grumbled. "Put him in the back him in the back of the van on some sacks I don't want to smell his filth."

Lying in the back of the van as it jolted along the unsurfaced road towards the nearest town I cried quietly to myself partly from the pain from where the branding iron had incised it's cruel mark into my flesh and partly for the family from which I had been dragged. The brand on my bottom and the iron ring about my neck a constant reminder to me that I was now and would be for as long as I lived a Tribute Boy.

In fact it was not long before the van drew to a stop. Out side it I could hear the recording officer and his assistant talking.

"We'll stop here now," the officer said. "We are not expected to return to the main collecting point until midday tomorrow so we have plenty of time."

"Shall I put the boy somewhere."

"Don't bother. There's no where for him to go now and he won't be in any fit state to eat until tomorrow morning. It takes them that long to recover from a branding."

They moved away still talking quietly together.

For all my pain sleep came quite quickly. When I woke it was dark. I pulled myself to the back of the van. A near full moon in a cloudless sky cast a silver light over the surrounding countryside. Off to one side a low building loomed, lights glowing in it's windows, and a sound of talking and laughter and music came from it. No doubt that was where the two men were. Behind the van stretched the dirt road back to the village and my father and mother, brothers.

I know now what I did then was wicked. A betrayal of my father and an act of ingratitude to him. But I was only seven and the longing for my family and the village was strong in my heart. I eased my self over the back of the Land Rover and stood on the dirt road feeling the cool night air against my bare skin. For a moment I wondered in which direction to go but then I saw the van stood at a T junction to the left and right ran a metalled road ahead of me was the dirt track. I began to walk along it. Dawn was breaking when I arrived back at the village, tired and foot sore. My father woke as I slipped into the shack. He got up quickly but he did not cuddle me. Instead he took me roughly by the arm and taking from the corner where it was kept the broken broom handle which he used to correct us children when we had transgressed began to beat me. My mother woken by my screams sat up and began to cry but she did not intervene or plead on my behalf as she usually did when my father thrashed us. My two brothers watched with big round scared eyes. At last my father stopped panting and I fell sobbing to the floor at his feet.

"You are no longer mine," he said speaking quietly but clearly. "I have sold you and you have dishonoured me with your behaviour. You will come with me now and you will return to the officer and you will beg his pardon and ask him take you back. As you cannot be trusted I will have to bind you."

"Up," he ordered and hit me again with the rod.

I scrambled to my feet and roughly bound my wrists together in front of my body. Then taking hold of the loose end of the cord he lead me from the hut and mounting his bicycle set off down the track towards the metalled road with me trotting behind.

I was already exhausted from my night walk. Now the day was getting hotter and soon my bruised and aching body was covered with dust and sweat as I stumbled along behind my father's bike.

Suddenly around a corner of the track the land rover appeared trailing behind it a cloud of dust. It skidded to a halt by my father. I dropped to my knees on the road panting for breath as the flies swarmed round me.

I was kicked sharply in the bottom. I looked up my father was standing with the officer and his assistant.

"Well," the officer said, "it looks as though this one will take some breaking."

Chapter 3

Where we introduce the Franchise Holder or Tribute Master Don Carlos del Ezzaro

There is no need of a security fence to keep the stock in, the vast majority would not dream of leaving, having seen the consequences. In this summer season it is hot and dry here, but winters bring much rain and storms, turning everything to mud, the stock struggling bemired to fulfil their tasks adds to their desirability for some clients.

His father had thought of a place further South but here there are also possibilities of exciting winter sports, and Spain with its long tradition of rearing stock for performance, of blood, of implicit sexuality and sand just had to be the first choice. Now he also has to consider his own son, and maybe heir Christopher.

Don Carlos Speaks

I must mount and ride round the estate, the boy jogging along at the stirrup to await anything I might require of him. He begins to pant a little, exhaustion is good training. We enter the heavy wooden gates, both are rather damaged where it has been expedient to drive spikes into them from time to time, and ride under the arch and into the Stock Yard. I note the neat sties of the Tribute Boys along, three boys to each. These run along three sides of the compound and accommodate up 180 boys from the age of Tribute, just seven years to age of Release around fourteen years. They are much better than their namesake, providing just a little better than the minimum required in facilities, just a sleeping platform, a box for possessions, and in the winter clean straw, a slop bucket and a water trough, oh and of course the required security camera and restraints. The boys not working in other parts of the estate are now busy at lessons or training sessions, each small group of around twenty boys under a Tutor. They report to me as I require and we plan the maximum utilisation of each boy in their charge.

I rein in near one of the open sided teaching area that fronts the large Games Complex on the fourth side. The boy at my side flops exhausted in the dust, now streaming with sweat and crawls towards the water trough and laps greedily, shall I punish him for this? My thoughts are interrupted by watching the Tutor explain to twenty odd little boys, they must be the eleven and twelve year olds, squatting on their haunches, the principles of electricity. As is my policy they are of many different races and crosses. Our clients here appreciate a varied diet. The Tutor asks for volunteers to give a practical demonstration, all hands shoot up with squeals of "Me! Me! Please Sir Me!"

My Tutor Señor Anthony, a young man just starting on his career, obviously loves his work as he walks among the bouncing little tykes, tousling a head here and there. I smile indulgently. He selects a Japanese, I do recall his name is Chueng, he has hair cut straight at mid neck, almond eyes, and delicate cream skin. He jumps up with a clap and follows his Tutor to the demonstration bench and climbs on it to lie spread-eagled unbidden. I savour the smooth defined little form with a growing lust. The tutor clips the prepared metal straps round ankles and wrists restraining him and inserts contacts into the boys penis slit and anus, his moans of discomfort turn to sharp cries as the nipple clamps are applied, he twists in his restraints as the Tutor explains contacts and conductivity and power source. This is demonstrated and the boy screams, his body lifting rigid, straining against his bonds and pretty head thrashing from side to side, as the increasing doses of current course through his vulnerable young body.

As we ride away I notice that that Señor Anthony is erect as are many of his class, satisfyingly so is little Chueng. I wonder if he could produce something really special by way of performance? Perhaps a wager with my Aunt? My boy trots, now revived a little, at the stirrup.

We get out into open country, we have been asked to lay on some hunting for a party of Germans later in the season. I calculate just how many quarry will satisfy them, and the number of beaters we will need to recruit. We approach the edge of the woods to observe the work party of twelve and thirteen year olds collecting timber against the winter. Two are labouring with a two handled saw, their muscles straining beneath smooth skin. The rest are suitably harnessed drag the cut logs down to the track for collection. The logs are heavy and they grunt on all fours straining against their waist harnesses to move them, feet and hands scrabbling on the rough ground, chains leading between straining thighs.

This work project was suggested by one of our more experienced Tutors, Señor Maurice, and I greet him as I dismount. I hand the boy the reins, and he drops gratefully to his haunches. I note the boy Mishear in this group, along with his two younger sty mates, Vaas and Jan. The Russian boy platinum and the English boy gold. Jan, I will never ever forget how he came to us after his ninth birthday, and how enjoyable had been his breaking! He was called to served yet again our regular clients, last night, strange that they want only him, never one of the others. Now his golden tan body is marked all over with the red weals of the lash though the skin is not broken, he staggers a little as he climbs up past me and I notice fresh blood on the inside of his thighs, and from small wounds in his nipples. No wonder our clients were so happy over breakfast, the woman seemed especially satisfied.

My thoughts return to Mishear and my schemes for him. I am particularly attracted to his racial type and this goes back to the days as a young student when on Voluntary Service in his country as a trainer of Recording Officers. At that time nobody in the West had fully appreciated the range of services that might be both profitable and enjoyable from this new resource. Neither had I fully appreciated the depths of my need to dominate and control young boys though an English Public School education had given a certain amount of practice. All that changed when staying at Umur Patel's carpet factory.

The gift of the carpet was a handsome gesture, the suggestion that it might be used in a practical fashion at first I did not understood. The introduction to two kohl eyed eleven year old beauties, naked except for the small knife on a thong round their necks, dispelled any ambiguity.

"Sahib may choose the boy he wishes to christen the carpet, but it might be more exciting if he was to give his favour to the winner of a contest between the two."

I immediately began to stiffen at the thought. The boys eyed each other with hatred and at my signal fought long and hard and bloodily until the weaker was hauled away grievously wounded. I raped and tortured the bloody victor into unconsciousness on that carpet, and it is still a much treasured possession. Afterwards I realised the potential of such an experience, though of course Father had already worked it out many years before. Umur proved a good teacher and on my return to Europe my father advised me to create one of the first European Leisure Franchises on this land, that he had bought all those years before.

Mishear reminds me of that first boy, something about the light in those black eyes, as he respectively approaches you, seizes my hand kisses it and touches it with his forehead, "Long Life to You Beloved Master!" before dropping to his knees in at my feet in the dirt, with his thighs spread painfully wide I can not help but notice, with pleasure, he is equally painfully erect.

"And May Your Death bring Honour! You may speak boy!"

"Please sir I wish to discuss the termination of my service."

"Very well come suitably prepared to my office at dusk after you have finished, I will send full instructions."

"Thank you Master, I only live and die to please you!" and he goes back to work.

He is still too young for this decision but I became interested in his potential as a performer in the ritual of final release rather earlier than usual. I smile with satisfaction at the success of the strategy of waiting until he was producing his first full orgasms, then making sure that no client used him and so they had been denied him for three months now, the loss would leave him only two possible choices, both fatal, as well as being most entertaining and profitable. There is no harm in having a foretaste of what the boy can do this evening when he presents himself to me. Perhaps he should bring his friend Jan with him to dance for me? I smile at the thought and mount to ride off back to the house. The copper coloured boy, Sky, that's the name, is now exhausted to the point of collapse, struggles to keep up, then trails far behind, of course I do not slacken the horses pace.

Watching him being beaten by Hassan for this failure, will be most diverting, as his breaking and schooling are now entering their final phase, perhaps as I take a leisurely glass of sherry before the siesta 3;?

Mishear, relieved now the momentous decision has been made, drags his final load before feeding and the boy's siesta in the noon heat. His belly less empty he rests under a tree, his blond sty mate Jan, aching and sick, curls next to him. Mishear carries on with telling his story inside his head 3; 3; The blond boy also remembers through his pain his own story 3;

Chapter 4

The Tribute boy Jan introduces himself

My name is Jan, I am seven years old today, I have very blond hair, short with a long plaited tail at the back. My eyes are blue most of the time but sometimes people think they are green. My skin is pale at this time of the year, at the moment there is snow on the ground, in the summer when mummy and I go on holiday I quickly go a darker golden colour. We live in a part of the city where my mummy says the good people live, and we must be carefully not to let the poor people take away what is ours. We know there is only one law however and I wear the same small loincloth as do the poor boys. My mummy says it was made the law because at first the poor boys could not stand the cold when they were made to work.

Yesterday she came to my school and was given my Assessment, a straight 'A'. My Mummy is very pleased and the Teacher praises me. Last week one of the poor boys in my class had to stand up and get his, also 'A'. His father was there to hear and looked very strange, the boy sobbed. Teacher had the boy stand up in front of the class and gave us the boring old talk about Tribute Boys and their Duties. So we all knew what was going to happen to him!

My loincloth today is of fine leather, I have a broad leather belt too with a pouch for my personal computer, on my feet are leather sandals and long woollen socks, around my shoulders is a fur cape. My mummy says that it is important that we show how rich we are today as we have to go to the Recording Officer same as the Poor Boys who will now have to work and not be a drain on hardworking people like my mummy.

My little brother Justin is only four, so he does not come with us. We take a taxi to the old football stadium which has been turned into the place for the Recording Officers to work. Outside there are queues of naked boys, shivering and blue in the snow, most my age, but some look bigger. They look strange with their heads shaved, only their skin colour tells you what ethnic variety they are now. At another entrance I see a queue of girls, but you can only tell because they have no cocks.

My mummy says that is what happens when people don't want to work and only want to breed useless brats and bitches to be a drain on society. And we go into the other entrance where people like us go. The Recording Officer is a kindly man who ruffles my hair and gives me a sweet as he charges my Tribute up to mummy's credit card. When she isn't looking he runs his hand down my hip and thigh, it feels scary and good at the same time, he says quietly to his assistant, "What a pity this one isn't in the other group, he'd be worth is weight in gold, and straight 'A' Assessment too!"

They smile at me and I smile back. When we have finished mummy takes me into the best seats in the stadium, and we watch the row of poor boys one at a time having the hot thing pressed against their bottom. How they scream and wriggle, some even go to the toilet then fall into it. Mummy says "Disgusting little beasts!" and we leave.

It is one year later and I go again. Mummy seems to be angry with me all the time, only have time for Roger, he is not my real father, and my little brother. She keeps saying things about he is Justin's real daddy. Now I am bigger I wear shorts. Again a couple of days before my birthday Mummy came to school and was given my Assessment, this time she looked very pleased but not with me. Justin is with us this time. It is the same scene as before, now we stay longer and Mummy seems to be thinking about something. I find the little boys antics amusing and it makes my little cock stand up, especially when I see the little boys shooting pee everywhere. I look at Justin his little cock is hard too, it nearly pushes out the side of his loin cloth.

Tomorrow I will be nine years old, time for my yearly Assessment and Tribute again, I have grown a lot in the last year. On holiday mummy and Uncle Roger took me to see some races between eleven year old Tribute Boys, they had lots of obstacles to get over and a fast river to get across. Uncle Roger said that the Leisure Park had a course in the country built specially, and in season boys were sent from all over to compete. The boys were screaming and pushing each other to be first. Several got hurt and had to be pulled away crying, it was such good fun, almost as good as Tribute Day. But the best bit was at the end when the ones left in the race had to climb a cliff face to finish at the top. One boy with short brown hair and very brown skin was second, nearly at the top he slipped and ended up hanging by one arm. His feet scrabbled madly but he could not get back his hold and he started screaming and peeing like mad. My cock got really hard with excitement and you could see the holo cameras focussing in on him rather than the first boy that had reached the top. They followed him down as he fell still screaming, to thud into the ground at the base of the cliff. He lay there moaning and twitching slightly, there was a lot of blood and his legs stuck out in a funny way. Everybody clapped and cheered, but soon ignored him when he lay still.

Now everybody was at the top congratulating the finishing boys. People were bidding to take them home for the night after dinner, mummy and Uncle were lucky and got the boy who was first. After the big dinner of roast meat, we do not have that very often, they took the boy into their room and I was told to go to bed with Justin and stay there. I did not understand what was happening then but in the morning he was lying on his back on the grass outside my room, and seemed to be hurt and bleeding more than he had at the end of the race. I sneaked out to have a closer look and he stared back at me but said nothing, his cock and balls are much bigger than mine. Fascinated I touched them, and he groaned in pain. But his cock got very hard, and so much bigger than mine, so I rubbed it up and down. Then somebody came and carried him away 3;

Mummy and Uncle were very happy that day.

That night I lay naked on the bed next to Justin, and tried the same with his, and he got all big again. Uncle Roger came to my room, he ran his hands over my body like the Recording Officer had, it made me feel all tingly, much better than when I did this to myself and my little cock got harder as he rubbed it. I don't understand what he said about "having plans for you, you desirable little whore."

While I think about this mummy and Uncle are shouting at each other, it seems to be about me and how I am the brat of my no good father. Justin seems to be smirking about something

In the morning I wake up looking forward to my Birthday treats, again my Assessment was straight 'A', but why did Teacher have me stand in front of the class for the Tribute Boy lecture? And why did I a Free Boy have to repeat after him, "I swear to honour and obey of my own free will." I did not understand then what the words meant. And why did I sleep so quickly last night after that funny drink Mummy gave me?

I am very pleased to be going to see the poor boys being branded. Mummy comes in looking angry with me again. I don't understand as she tells me to pack all my shorts and other cloths into a bag. I start to cry and she hits saying "you are an ungrateful little brat after all I've sacrificed for you. You are just like your father, you are going to the right place for feckless no goods."

She hauls me out of bed, I sleep naked like all small boys, and to my horror I catch the reflection of a strange boy in my mirror! I put my hands to my head and the fear begins to churn by belly, all my fine blond hair has been shaved off! She shoves my bag into my hand and marches me out into the street. I am so cold and so ashamed to be being dragged naked through the snow. I am not stupid and I know what will happen to me and I am very frightened. We get to the football stadium and we join the line of poor boys, they all seem to have friends to comfort them. My mother is allowed to go to the front of the queue, the poor people seem embarrassed by her.

When we get to the bench it is the same Recording Officer as I met first, now he is not friendly to me but respectful to mother as he punches credits into her card.

In an instant she is gone, I am alone and the Recording Officer grabs me and forces me over the bench with one hand whilst the other explores my vulnerable body. I feel with horror the warm wetness of my piss between my thighs and the smooth wood. I see his assistant throw my bag of clothes on the brazier and pull out the brand.

"Well everything come to him who waits," and it was struck home on my naked rump. Indescribable agony engulfs me, until I black out. When I come too I lie in the grass in the accumulated filth of the boys in front of me and there is an stainless steel collar round my neck.

"Well," said the Recording Officer, "breaking such a beautiful little snooty bastard like this will be rewarding, the fat cats are always take longer. I wonder what the poor little sod did that his Bitch mother would Tribute him?"

He takes out his personal computer and dictates a mail, "Charles, bid for 14/11/24/142, this district, third Tribute, unwanted by rich bitch, classic blond. You owe me one tell me when I take leave for the breaking 3; 3;" But I faint again before he finishes 3;

When I awoke Mishear was shaking me gently and all the pain of last night flooded back, but guiltily I remembered the pleasure as well 3; "Jan, Jan, Wake up its time to work again, Do you think you will be well enough to help me prepare to talk to Master after work?"

"I will help you as much as I can," I manage to say.

Chapter 5

Mishear continues his story

I knew we looked a striking sight together one blonde haired and golden skinned, the other with dark brown skin and jet black hair both with the strong slim bodies of well trained boy athletes. Our bodies, marzipan and dark chocolate respectively, both marred with stripes of cochineal where the overseer had used his strap to exact extra effort from us that morning. Indeed it was because of the contrast I used to think that we were stabled together and often paired when it came to entertaining our Masters clients. Many times we had lain naked together in some rich man's bed ready to devote our bodies to satisfying his desires, competing for the honour of receiving his seed, our nimble eager tongues meeting as we worked to rouse his lust to new peaks.

But not recently. Not since that time now so long ago when in an ecstasy of pain and sexual stimulation some dam deep inside me seemed to break and for a few seconds of untold bliss I achieved escape from the horrors of a Tribute Boy's lot. Since then the Master's clients had chosen only Jan. Tired as I was my cock stood ached and throbbed as I remembered those times when I, sometimes with Jan and sometimes without, had been selected to serve.

I couldn't understand why Jan was favoured now and I was not. I used to be chosen as often as him if not more so. I had often received better gifts than him. Not that he wasn't good both as a whore and an athlete. I had watched him often on the single bar doing hand stands and back flips, his oiled and naked body gleaming in the glow from the burning coals in the pit below him, while the guests lolling at their ease glasses in their hands applauded and shouted. I had performed there with him too, together, knowing a single slip or misjudgement would send one or both of us tumbling into the hot coals. I had been present once when that happen once to another boy. His screams and the laughter and cheers of the audience as they enjoyed his death agony lived still in my memory

But still Jan might whimper and feel sore after spending the night with one of our masters clients but I envied him. I envied him for the chance he had had of experiencing those seconds of ecstatic pulsing release and I envied him too for the added credits that he would have gained to his fund. Not that this was important to him. His mother who would benefit was already rich and Jan felt none of the obligation which I had learnt gratitude and love imposed on me to provide for my parents future from the earnings of my body.

Mind you that was a hard lesson for me to learn and I needed many painful years of schooling before I fully accepted my fate. My mind went back to that time the morning after my seventh birthday when I knelt in the dust of the road tired and thirsty and hungry while my father spoke earnestly to the recording officer.

"I beat him soundly as soon as I found him and brought him straight back to you Sir," My father's voice was frightened and pleading. He sounded more nervous and respectful even than when he spoke to the Landlord.

"And so you should have," the officer spoke coldly. "Else you would have been a thief and you know what the penalty for theft is under the law?"

My father bowed his head but did not speak.

"As it is," the officer continued, "There is but one thief and that is the boy and he must bear the penalty."

"But I have brought him back to you and beaten him," my father protested humbly.

"The fact that a thief has been caught makes him no less of a thief and does not exempt him from punishment as a thief. It would be a strange doctrine that said that only thieves that were not caught should be punished." The officer laughed grimly.

"Get the axe and the bench from the car," he continued speaking to his assistant.

"The bench will do as well for lopping as branding," he went on speaking again to my father, "And you will have to bring me your next son to replace this one. He will be no use to me without his right hand."

"But Lord," my Father wailed falling to his knees, "if you take my next son there will be no one to help me on the fields. My youngest son is but three and can do nothing. I cannot work the fields by myself. We will all starve."

"You should not have fathered a thief," the officer said indifferently. Then speaking to his assistant, "bring the brat here and put his wrists across the bench. Do not bother to untie them. He has thin boy's wrists I can sever them both at a blow and one hand or no hands he'll starve in the end and his whole family with him."

The assistant caught hold of the cord binding my wrists and tugged me across to the bench. I thought of my mother, my father and my brothers all ruined because of my sin and cried. The Officer raised his axe above his shoulder.

"Master," I cried desperately, " I cannot serve without my hands - please Master let me serve."

The Officer paused.

"You cannot leave a thief unchastised," protested his assistant.

"He will be chastised that I promise you," The officer said grimly. Load him into the back of the Land Rover and keep his hands bound. We do not want him to try to escape again."

"Oh Lord, thank you Lord." My father cried lifting his hands as knelt on the road. "You are truly merciful. My wife and family pray blessings on you and all you possess."

As the Land Rover drove off I could see my father still kneeling his hand extended crying blessing on his benefactors head. That was the last time I saw my father.

We came to a town. It seemed to me then to be very large. I had never seen such tall buildings or so many people but then I was used only to our village where there was no more than a dozen shacks and no building over a single story in height. There was a big square full of people and on one side of it a long wall with heavy gates set in it. We drove through the gates and we were in a large high walled compound. I was pulled out of the van. A number of boys about my age sat or lay huddled in the shade. They did not run around and shout like boys did in my village. The Recording Officer lead me to a a lean to shed in one corner of the yard. There was a table and behind the table a thin man wearing a much smarter suite than the recording officer.

The man behind the desk looked up impatiently.

"Another brat," he said in a bored voice. "Give me his docket then and I'll register him."

Then he looked at me a little harder and asked, "Why are his hands bound?" Suddenly he sounded more interested.

"He tried to run away Sir," the Recording Officer said producing a slip of paper and putting it on the table in front of the man.

"Run away did he?" The man stood up and came round his desk. He stood in front of me looking at me closely. The he walked slowly round me looking me up and down as I stood still under his inspection.

"Quite nicely proportioned for his age." he remarked quietly.

Then he ran his hand up the back of my thigh and squeezed my bottom. Nobody had done that before to me and I was surprised. For a moment I was frightened but the feel of his hand stroking my bare bum was quite pleasant and I relaxed. He laughed and slapped me firmly on my bottom.

"A promising lad," he said returned to his desk and made an entry in a big ledger and also noted something on the paper the recording officer had handed him.

"But a runaway. We can't have that. A whipping and then two hours of repentance.

Two men ceased me and marched me out of the compound. I was dragged through the crowd onto a platform in the middle of the square. People crowded round to watch and there was laughter and clapping. My hands were tied to a post above my head and then one of the men whipped me. It was only a light whip I know now suitable for the correction of a seven year old. Not heavy enough to cripple or to mark permanently, unless wielded by an inexperienced man and the man who whipped me was not that, but it hurt. I howled and leapt under the lash as the crowd stood round and enjoyed the spectacle. I was given a moment to rest and then my hands were released and I was made to stand on a chair on the platform holding a notice over my head. I could not read so I did not know what it said but one of the crowd kindly shouted it out so that I would know. "I am a thief."

I do not know how long I was made to stand there in the hot sun with the crowd passing by and staring and shouting insults but it seemed a lifetime. My back bottom and shoulders burnt from the lash, the sun blazed down and I was faint from thirst and hunger. My arms ached from holding the notice over my head but if I showed any sign of trying lower it the man standing on the platform beside me lashed me across my bare legs with the lash.

I wept. I could feel the tears running down my face and then I realised I was lying on the ground beside Jan and I was remembering times long past and that soon we would have to return to work and after that I had to see my Master and needed to prepare my self for that I shook Jan gently to rouse him.

Chapter 6a

Don Carlos the Tribute Master Speaks

I toss him the reins, "You are not to drink without permission and I do not expect to be kept waiting, tell the groom to bring you back for punishment in your present state after you have attended to the horse."

"Yes master" and he trots away, do I notice some sparks of residual defiance there? they are so good to snuff out when there are.

Inside the cool of the stone house I am met by my house boy for this week, as he is one of this seasons new stock, only a few months into Tribute, he is very nervous of me, I look at him hard trying to see if this will make him loose control of his bladder again, he struggles and succeeds in retaining his urine, his little hand gripping his penis to make sure. I do not like them pissing in the house and he seems to be learning.

His name his Pedro, and he comes from a small holding near the village. I do not usually take them that close but his father Juan had been the first boy I had schooled that had proved himself worthy of Release. His Release under Tribute Law was conditional on him providing his first and second sons as replacements. I find to school a boy so that he has so much love for me that he can endure against all odds so as to be awarded his release, a deeply satisfying achievement. Indeed its is my aim for all my boys to attain this though only a few are capable of using the chances and training they are given. I find some clients like authentic local blood so I aim to keep a few little Latinos like him.

Obediently he follows me to the bathing area. Being quite small he has to use a stool to remove my waistcoat, then on his knees to remove boots. He stands and unbuckles my belt, with its tooled pouch for my computer, and slides my leather riding chaps down my legs. All my cloths for work are of fine leather, for I am wealthy as well as having a supply when needed. He trots out with them to keep them dry to be cleaned latter. I regard my mature, even ageing naked body it the full length mirrors, comparing my size and hairiness with his slight brown form as he returns and kneels at my feet to await my command to bath me with the warm scented water he has prepared. This he does with new found confidence, taking special care with the parts that have been in contact with the saddle, I harden but I will not use him today as I have other plans. I speculate the advantages of training him or marketing his virginity 3; He dries me carefully, I dry my hands in his dark mop of hair tousling it, and then dresses me in a silk sarong. I dismiss him with a squeeze to the testicles that makes him rise on his toes and squeal.

On the shaped veranda my sherry and a few 'tapas' await me. The domestic staff in the house and stables are all between fourteen and twenty one years. The nice thing about using teenagers after their gelding and sale at fourteen is that the fear of the alternative of stock rearing pens adds to their natural docility. I also require that they stay as invisible as possible. Seated I clap my hands and quickly the groom appears, he is not a mere servant but a trusted member of staff and leads my small security team. He came originally from Senegal, is very big and very black, and prefers to speak French, his name is Hassan. The boy follows him holding a basket with some implements for me to choose.

"Name boy!"

"Sky, third year of Tribute, Master"

He has been crying and the tears add to his deshevelment.

"You know why, your punishment is twelve strokes and 24 hours at the post."

"Please Master I tried, just beat me."

Defiance again, nice! I just motion to Hassan he pulls the boy over and skilfully clips the slim steel ring around Sky's testicles, he has selected just the right size to give maximum discomfort without permanent damage. He pulls hard on the chain and the boy give his first cry as he is led to the post. I designed this with great thought. It is of polished wood in the middle of my court yard, on it there is a loose ring. It is surrounded by a circle of carefully raked sand, then by a series of pools and fountains, behind them the lush vegetation of the courtyard. Hassan padlocks the boys chain to the ring, Hassan has of course carefully measured so that no matter how hard the boy pulls on his leash he will only be able to touch the water not drink it. Hassan returns to sit beside me and we chat over old times and the merits of various techniques.

I tell him that I am well pleased with his service again this year, I ask if the usual bonus is acceptable. He tells me that another 'blanc' sixth or seventh year of Tribute would be great. I wonder if he can make his bonus last longer this time, I will need to buy in a strong one. The boy Sky is beginning to suffer from heat and thirst begins to strain towards the water, pulling his testicles away from his body and grunting with pain. I tell Hassan I have finished my lunch and he may begin.

For punishment of young stock it is necessary to use only a light whip, unless you want to take things further. Hassan cracks the whip at Sky and the lad jumps to his feet and backs away. The first stroke wraps round the boys copper thighs and he screams, the next across buttocks, but the tip catching the small penis draws blood. Hassan's remaining ten strokes, his black muscular body splendid and aroused, drives the increasingly bloody and frantically screaming small Amerindian boy dancing round and round the post. Hassan is an expert and the wounds will soon heal without a mark. Not so the marks on the boy's soul as he falls whimpering in the sand after the twelfth stroke across his smooth chest. But soon I feel he will be ready to truly love and serve even unto death. Love is so much more effective that fear to get the very best out of a boy!

Hassan leaves with my thanks and before I sleep I rehearse in my mind some interesting possibilities for Mishear's fate, I wonder if I could in some way link it to the blond boy? That young Jan that look so much breaking, they seem very friendly, but maybe twelve years with only three years of training is too young for a successful performance? With the better feeding of a wealthy infant he is almost identical in size to the dark boy. I will talk with my guests who used him last night and gauge his ability, I can not test him myself as they have retained him for the remaining days of their holiday.

Meanwhile back at the sties Mishear is being helped to prepare for his ordeal by Jan. He has received his instructions 3;

Chapter 6b

Later that day Don Carlos continues

I briefly remember the horror of being his age, the pain and degradation, all in the hypocrisy of education, but a Tribute Boy can not experience such fine misery because of his station in life, and I dismiss the thought to reflect on the prospects for the rest of the day. But first I really need a piss. I clap my hands and indicate the fine porcelain bowl, Pedro scuttles off to collect it. I spread my thighs and sink lower in the couch, pulling up my sarong as I do so. The boy is getting better in his duties, no hesitation now as he directs my erect member to jet into the bowl, no shrinking now from the inevitable splashes on his face and body, nor from cleaning me with his tongue after I am done, I fondle his ears as he does so. Perhaps by the end of the week I will dispense with the bowl? Still erect, the thought of relieving my other need in his tight warm throat crosses my mind, but there will be other times for that. I clap my hands again and he smiles at me and withdraws to empty the bowl and clean himself.

I glance at Sky, surprisingly the boy is still conscious despite the heat, he has not drunk now for over seven hours. If I gave him my piss he would drink it, but I always believe in both the carrot and the stick, my Tribute Boys must love me as well as fear me, only that way will they be able to make the sacrifices required of them when their time comes. I walk over to him with the finger bowl left over from luncheon, gently raise his drooping head, and put it to his parched lips. He slurps greedily as I stroke his raven hair and smooth neck. When the bowl is empty he starts crying, and clasps my feet, kissing them.

"Thank you Master, I love you, I will try so hard to please you tomorrow."

I lift him to his feet and gaze into the dark eyes, no defiance there now, and I kiss him on the lips, he opens his mouth to let my tongue penetrate him. He slumps back on the ground when I release him. Maybe later tonight I will assay the depths of his first statement of love. But now back to work, I have much to do before I permit Mishear to entertain me.

Back at his desk Don Carlos dictates instructions to his secretary, once a Tribute Boy, now a sexless youth of sixteen, his body devoid of hair and head shaven. His nakedness is total saving only a fine silver collar, and reveals that neither penis nor testicles remain. The youth deftly enters Don Carlos's instructions into the computer.

Item One:	Check on available quarry for the German hunting part, one dozen should suffice, able to give a good run in the mountains.
Item Two:	Confirm with the clients dates and duration of their booking. Also composition of the party. The initial enquiry said three friends who wanted to initiate their sons into field sports. Check their ages.
Item Three:	Request that Karl has beaters and hounds on standby, training hunt on the estate first, then no limits in the Picos Natural Park. Get clearance from the rangers.
Item Four:	Tell Anthony that I was impressed by the physics lesson. I suggest he has the Japanese boy, check his name will you? stay at his place over the weekend. In depth scientific research is always useful and he might care to demonstrate his findings over dinner next week?
Item Five:	Tell Maurice that the logging is good, very creative idea of his. Nice to see this in a young Tutor. But maybe just a touch more of the whip? Ask him if he would like to take on Performance Director for Mishear under my guidance?
Item Six:	Check on the identity of the man and woman staying here, why do they return frequently and request Jan?
Item Seven:	Put out to those who expressed interest in Mishear's final performance that we are ready to go proceed. We need to find out if this is best as a private event at a special venue, or big public affair at one of the Rings down South.
Item Eight:	Order Pedro to serve me a light dinner at 20:00 hrs.
Item Nine:	Order Mishear here at 21:00 hrs ready to dance. Use the black twins for drum accompaniment. He is to bring Jan to hold his things, the boy can go to his clients at 23:00 hrs as usual.

That will be all.p> The evening is getting cooler now and he walks down to the beach drawn by the excited squeals. There are at least twenty Tribute Boys here enjoying their free time after work and training. He delights in the contrasting shades of their gleaming bodies, all shapes and ages. As he swims they show no fear and he teases some. He is gratified by this, to preserve their high spirits requires fine individual judgement in the depth of breaking required. The depths of degradation and servitude demanded of them are set in fine relief by their generous periods of freedom, and health and resilience are all important. On the top of the beach are a number of wind surfers for the boys use though none are tonight, the wind being light, many boys have come to the beach on bicycles and they are scattered in boyish untidy heaps. But everything in this place has alternative uses.

To the end of the beach are the guest chalets, each isolated and private. Guests are strictly isolated from the main part of the hacienda, unless having booked the Games Complex adjacent to the sties, this is the venue for the seekers of special pleasures. For those requiring more orthodox delights there are no limits to where they can be entertained, by a Tribute Boy, in the Leisure Park Complex.

There are a number of male guests on the beach, though women are increasingly attracted to formerly male sports, they relax and chat, served with drinks by the evenings serving boys. They scan the delights before them, enjoying, as does Don Carlos's, the boys antics. They and he know the only limit on what they might plan to do about their fantasies is the extent of their credit.

Chapter 6c

A letter dictated by Don Carlos to the Indian dancing boy Mishear

His time is free after work except for ordered performances. He desperately needs time to think 3;

"Tribute Boy Mishear, final year of Tribute.

Your request for release from service has been granted according to the Law. You will present yourself to me in my room at 21:00 hrs this evening. You will be accompanied by Tribute Boy Jan, penultimate year of Tribute, who will be dismissed in time to go to his clients at 23:00 hrs. You will also bring Tribute Boys Inu and Itu, fourth year of Tribute, to play their drums for your performance.

You are ordered to prepare yourself, clean oiled and suitably adorned to dance and to perform for me for one hour. You are to choose three suitable instruments of torture for me to asses your worth afterwards. You may choose the nature of your performance, and how you will involve the other boys. However it pleased me to have set up the cross bars, the charcoal pit and the one metre phallus.

After your performance has finished, exactly on half time, you will mount the dais in front of my chair and kneel in the Tribute position. When I clap my hands you will beg my permission to proceed with your chosen method of Release, and beg my guidance in its successful completion. Then still kneeling lay backwards with your neck over the edge of the dais, and your arms spread wide. If you have displeased me I will now cut your throat .You will await my decision in this fashion until it pleases me.

If I choose to let you proceed to the next stage, I will then test your resolve and stamina, using the three instruments of torture of your own choice, for my own pleasure. This is to asses if you can offer something exceptional in the way of a release performance or combat.

If your choice of the means of torture is apt and your sufferings arouse me sufficiently I may require you to serve me in my bed for the rest of the night.

May you find the courage not to displease me."

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