Date: Sun, 9 Apr 2006 21:53:27 -0700 (PDT)
From: Hank M <redbeardedsf@yahoo.com>
Subject: A Father's Story

A FATHER'S STORY
By Master Redbeard
(redbeardedsf at yahoo.com)

(This is a fantasy story set in a world in which slavery exists. This story
includes implied sex - the implied sex is gay and may or may not be
happening between people of different ages. If any of this is offensive to
you or if it's illegal to read such a story in your jurisdiction, go away
now. If you have trouble differentiating between reality and fantasy, do
not read this story - go get help now.)

MODERN SLAVE Magazine invited a reader to share his positive experiences
with the Indentured Servitude program. While not an expert, this reader's
story is valuable because he is a real person dealing with the realities of
financial pressures and raising children.

I consider myself a typical dad in many ways. Church and good order have
always been important to me and I raised my children with a firm hand and a
respect for authority. I've always revered President Shelley and the
changes he made to our constitution. Our nation was saved by the
reintroduction of slavery - no more overfilled prisons, no more welfare
roles, finally these burdens on society could contribute something useful
by being of service to others. As everyone knows, when the demand for
slaves exceeded the supply, President Shelley then introduced the
Indentured Servitude Laws, which allowed individuals to enter voluntary
servitude or families to indenture their children. I could talk a blue
streak about all the benefits of Indentured Servitude, but (and here's
where I was such a typical dad) I could never imagine servitude for any of
my children.

I remember how outraged I was the first time my neighbor, Bob, suggested
such a scheme for my family. To be fair, I was the one who brought up the
subject of family finances with Bob. He was a vice president at the bank
and had moved into the new condos on the next block just a few months
earlier. We met and became friendly in an odd way, since his balcony
overlooked my small backyard where my sons exercised and played
basketball. Bob was an older gentleman. He told me he was widowed and had
grown children and grandchildren who never seemed to visit. But he had a
full life. Seeing the inside of his condo it was obvious he had a good deal
of money. He was a respected financial consultant at the bank and traveled
to exotic locales.

I had provided well for my family, but with six children we always lived on
a tight budget. Our house was small and we had done without vacations or
other luxuries. But my wife and I had raised honest, decent kids who always
had clean clothes (and who had always gotten many comments about their good
looks). It was my wish for my oldest daughter to go to college that had
prompted my conversation about finances with Bob. She was clearly the best
student of all my children and it pained me that I couldn't afford to send
her to even a local junior college. Bob casually remarked, "Your son Ricky
is so good looking, strong with a good body. He's going to be sixteen soon
and you could make good money placing him in indentured servitude for a few
years." I just lost my temper and stormed out.

Within the next week I'd have a change of heart. Just a few days later, on
Saturday night, the phone rang at 11:30 pm. I was furious. The wife and I
were already asleep. The phone call turned out to be the father of the girl
our son Ricky had been dating. They were a fine family and attended our
church. This father was sputtering with rage. He had found our Ricky
kissing his daughter very passionately and trying to push his teenage hands
up under the girl's sweater. Now I'm a realistic man. I expect my son would
want a good night kiss from his date. But forcing himself on a girl in such
an animalistic way - I thought we had raised our children better than
that. The girl's father made a sobering comment then. He said, "If I had
walked in on them just a few minutes later and Ricky had continued his
lustful advances further, your boy might be on his way to the slave
processing center right now!"

I hardly slept the rest of the night haunted by that warning. The next
morning when our family arrived at church, I saw Bob was there talking with
our pastor. I approached to apologize to Bob for my hot-headed reaction and
Bob apologized to me simultaneously. He said, "It was crude of me to make
it sound like you would enslave your own children for a quick buck." He
then asked me to join him and the pastor for coffee that afternoon.

When I arrived for coffee, the pastor began our conversation. He talked
about how the bible endorsed the idea of faithful servants and slaves and
about "how blessed are those who serve." Then Bob took out some family
photos one of which showed his three sons as young teens and adolescents. I
remarked, "But I thought you only had two sons?" He pointed to the boy in
the middle of the photo and said, "My middle son Wallace is an indentured
servant for life." I was so shocked I sputtered in reply, "B-but I thought
you were well off financially and... b-but how could you indenture your own
son for life?" I immediately regretted my clumsy words..

Bob chuckled in a kind way that made me feel less awkward. He said, "It
wasn't my intention to indenture Wallace for life. I had indentured my
oldest boy at age sixteen, just for two years. At that time I was just a
clerk in the bank and we were renting an apartment. The lease on my first
son gave us the down payment for our first house and helped us set up a
college fund. Two years later, when his older brother returned to us so fit
and muscled, so upright and focused, Wallace seemed eager to follow him
into service. I placed Wallace into indentured servitude for a five-year
contract. I held the lease so I could have pulled him from service at any
time. But the fact is Wallace took to his role as a servant. It would have
been cruel to drag him back into the life of worry and responsibility that
us free men have to contend with."

I was astonished and stated the obvious, "So all this time you have a son
in indentured servitude." Bob nodded, "Lifetime indentured servitude. I
still receive yearly payments as his leaseholder. Since I don't need the
money any longer, it goes directly into accounts for my grandchildren. By
Wallace remaining in service he's insuring a better life for his nieces and
nephews."

While I was still gathering my thoughts, the pastor added, "You know that
one in every five young people will spend at least some time either
indentured or enslaved. You have six children. Don't you think it's your
duty to our society to offer at least one into service?"

I then told both of the men the story of what had happened the previous
night, how Ricky had forced himself on that girl and how, had he gone a bit
further and actually tried to have sex with her, he would already be on his
way to being enslaved. They nodded sagely. All three of us then repeated
some form of the well-known admonition, "The safest place for a young man
is in servitude!" My worst fear was for any of my children to become
enslaved for life. Knowing now how hot blooded Ricky was, I saw the
controls of an indentured life as being a guarantee against his getting
into serious trouble that could permanently derail his life.

I was 100-percent convinced that indentured servitude was the right course
of action for Ricky even before Bob told me that he thought I could make
$30,000 a year as Ricky's leaseholder. This would be enough to send our
oldest daughter to college and also set up college funds for the rest of my
children. I phoned my house and told Ricky to come directly to the pastor's
house for a conversation.

Ricky reacted as one might have expected. First he was angry and seemingly
outraged. "How could any father turn his son into a slave." I corrected
him, "Indentured servant." But he went on, "Oh dad, that's just fancy
doubletalk. Everyone knows you become a slave. How could you say you love
your family and yet want to see me be a slave that has to serve some
master?"

The pastor broke in with, "We all serve a master, boy!" Then went on, "And
how could you profess to love your father and love your family and yet
refuse to be of service?" That got Ricky silent and gave the pastor time to
extol the virtues of service to others. Before the pastor had even
finished, Bob picked up the thread by asking, "Don't you care about the
future of your brothers and sisters? You're the oldest boy in the family,
Ricky. You need to take responsibility."

Ricky next started crying. In any other context I would have been ashamed
to see a son of mine weeping like a girl. But I understood that I was
asking him to give up a great deal. All three of us let him ramble on as he
sobbed, "But dad, I was set to be captain of the varsity baseball team next
year... and I almost had enough saved up for a new bike... my grades were
getting better... I've always been a good boy...." Finally he was out of
breath and I hugged him.

Bob was an expert on indentured service since he had often prepared
mortgages and other loans in which families bonded their children. I told
him that I didn't want to send Ricky away for training, but preferred to
train him at home. I would also not permit Ricky to be sent to some auction
house where he'd be chained up naked for all sorts of people to paw over
his body and then bid on him. As Ricky's leaseholder I would negotiate
directly and decide who would purchase my son's services. Bob felt my
choices were unwise, but I was insistent. I know that these decisions
helped calm Ricky down a little bit.

The very next morning Bob took Ricky and me to the Slave Induction
Center. I hated the fact that my indentured son had to be registered at the
same place as criminally convicted slaves, but because of his age and
because it was a family indenture, Bob and I were allowed to accompany
Ricky in the facility. Ricky was immediately ordered to strip naked, which
was difficult for him since he'd been raised in a modest home. When he
hesitated, he received a touch from the electric prod that left him
writhing on the floor. He looked to me for help, but I did not protest any
prodding or paddling he received at the center. Bob had wisely advised me
that Ricky had to learn obedience and that the light punishments of that
day would save him from harsher punishments later on.

Bob had warned me about the many indignities Ricky would face and about how
an indentured servant had to give up any claims to modesty. While I was
prepared for the overseers and examiners to handle my son's body, the worst
moment for me came when I became aware of a rough-looking convict directly
behind Ricky in line. This man was probably close to my age, was almost a
head taller than Ricky and his hairy muscled naked body was in stark
contrast to my son's smooth slim one. He displayed his large erect penis
without any shame at all and as the line of inductees moved slowly along I
kept seeing him bang up against Ricky. There was ooze from his penis that
was dripped onto my son's bare bottom. I wanted to complain to one of the
guards, but Bob held my arm and warned me that the guards might be harsher
with Ricky if I interceded on his behalf. The next moment Ricky turned and
swatted at the big man behind him. He was pulled from the line by the
guards who smacked his butt cheeks with a paddle five times. When he was
pushed back into line I could see tears in his eyes. But the big guy now
kept his distance. I was proud of my son.

I watched as Ricky was bent over and had some device shoved into his
rectum, which was then adjusted as if testing the muscle tone of his
cheeks. Then at the very next station along the way, Ricky was standing
side by side with the big convict and each of them was being masturbated by
an overseer. Bob tried to calm me down and told me that they needed to
check Ricky's health in every aspect and things like muscle tone and sperm
production were important. Still I whispered to him that this overseer with
frosted hair and an earring looked like a homosexual to me. "I spent my
life guarding my son from such sinners. And now within a few minutes I've
watched one pervert ooze his slime onto my son's bare flesh; I've seen his
bottom being invaded to the obvious delight of the queers in the room; and
now some other homo is stroking my boy's privates in a lascivious manner."
I continued, "If I wasn't here watching what would these sodomites be doing
to my boy?" Bob was philosophical and said, "That's why you should be glad
you're having your boy indentured and that he hasn't fallen into the
enslavement trap." That quieted me down and gave me a lot to think about.

By the end of that day Ricky had been collared, had his slave ID number
tattooed on his right shoulder and on his left buttock, had a global
positioning chip placed behind his right ear, had his head hair shaved down
to a quarter inch and had all the other hair on his body completely shaved
off. He was delivered to me still totally naked and carrying a neatly
folded set of slave clothes. This included the thin white slave shorts,
tank top, the jockstrap-like article that was made of soft white cloth, and
a slave poncho.

I should describe what Ricky looked like. I don't wish to commit the sin of
vanity, but Ricky (and all of my children) has been described as cute,
strikingly good looking, or handsome. He has clear skin, blond hair,
freckles that were disappearing as he matured, and an all-American look. He
had been a star athlete throughout his school career, and now stood 5'8",
about 130 lbs, with smooth flesh stretched across firm young muscles. He
was the sort of boy people would turn and look at. During the day at the
Slave Induction Center, people were turning and staring at his nakedness in
ways I didn't like.

As Bob and I were collecting Ricky at the end of his ordeal, one of the
overseers was just leaving. It was the fellow with frosted hair who had
masturbated my son earlier in the day. He smiled at me and said, "I can see
why you want to take him home for training instead of leaving him here." I
looked at him not comprehending his meaning and he continued, "If I had an
ass like that at home I'd have him bent over and be fucking him day and
night."

I stood up to my full height and said, "How dare you assume such a
thing. This boy is my son!"

The nervy overseer huffed at me and said, "So what does that matter?
Enslavement trumps family relationships. I've known dads who've indentured
their sons just so they could use 'em for sex!"

Bob calmly added in, "Hey, cool it fella. This boy won't be sixteen for
another two weeks."

The overseer looked up and down at Ricky's body and then said, "Oh man,
that's worth waiting two weeks for. Hell, that's worth waiting sixteen
years for."

I was ready to start a fight with this man, but had to turn my attention to
Ricky who had started crying uncontrollably. He was sobbing, "Dad, don't
make me do this. I'm not a queer. I'm not a homo. I don't wanna s-s-s-suck
or..." I put my arm around him and promised I would look after his future.
I assured him that anyone who wanted to purchase his services would have to
go through me and he knew the way I felt and the way my church felt about
queer sex.

Bob gave me a lot of books to read about slave training and he told me he
was surprised how well I did. I think it's because I've always been a
strict disciplinarian and because my kids already knew the importance of
being obedient. Midway through the training I had my wife take our two
daughters to her sister's house. Bob emphasized how important it is for an
indentured servant to be trained naked and I was simply uncomfortable
keeping Ricky naked with his mother and sisters in the house. I know this
was silly. My wife and daughters had seen naked slaves out on the street or
in stores. We all knew that nudity for a slave (or indentured servant)
wasn't the same as nudity for a regular person. Still I couldn't get the
idea out of my head that this was their brother and son they were seeing
bare.

Many of the most severe beatings Ricky received came about because of his
resentment of his younger brothers. His brother Will was only thirteen and
the twins were two-and-a-half years younger. But Ricky had to call each of
them "Sir" and had to obey their commands. I know that Ricky had picked on
Will and teased the younger boy, so it was likely that Will was getting
back at his big brother, but I considered that a good experience in
training Ricky. Each night Will was responsible for chaining Ricky down to
his bed naked, his legs spread and his arms above his head so he couldn't
masturbate. Will was also responsible for checking Ricky's grooming to make
sure my older son had cleaned up every hair off his body. One time I walked
in and found that Will had Ricky strapped to the whipping frame and was
strapping his butt him while three of his young friends watched. I was
about to protest - after all a high school sophomore having his naked ass
beating viewed by a bunch of middle school students -and then I realized
that the humiliation of this experience would prepare Ricky for the sort of
humiliations he would have to face as an indentured servant.

Right after Ricky's birthday Bob took steps to market him as an available
indentured servant. He told me that a complete set of nude pictures was
standard in such circumstances and by that time I had learned to accept
that my indentured son would be seen without any clothes. I must say the
pictures of him on the Internet looked great. Bob also asked for pictures
of Ricky from his free life: in his baseball uniform, dressed up for a
family wedding; with the swim team. He said these would add to the Ricky's
appeal since some people enjoyed having the recently indentured rather than
born slaves. While he was at it, Bob also took naked pictures of my younger
sons. He assured me these would not appear online, but said it was standard
practice to have these on file. The twins were at an age where they thought
being photographed nude was a lark. But Will was at a point where he didn't
want his changing body to be seen. I finally had to tie his hands to a
ceiling beam to get all the pictures Bob wanted.

Things got a little rocky when potential buyers started visiting our
home. Ricky did a good job of presenting himself - by this time he knew all
the appropriate servant poses, Display, Rest, Kneel and the others. The
first man who came to see Ricky brought along his pimple-faced son. The man
knew his slavemeat (as the saying goes). He examined Ricky thoroughly,
digging his fingers into the sides of Ricky's pectorals and into the backs
of his thighs to test my boy's muscles. He was explaining to his son what
he thought of Ricky's potential, as if teaching his boy how to examine a
slave properly.

When I asked what use he had in mind for Ricky, he told me that he had
promised he would buy a slave for his son's fraternity. He chuckled and
said that's why the frat had admitted his son. As soon as I heard that I
ushered the father and son out the door. I didn't want Ricky to spend the
next few years in a fraternity house. One of the reasons I had him
indentured was to protect him from wild parties and the indiscretions of
youth. I was not about to deliver him right into that environment.

I was hopeful about the next people to come see Ricky. They seemed like a
nice quiet couple with a married daughter and a son in college. They said
they wanted Ricky as a houseboy and spoke about how proud they were of
their gardens and how much gardening he'd be expected to do. I liked the
sound of this. Good honest work with fresh air in a decent churchgoing
household. As soon as I saw this gray-haired couple I was ready to hand
over my oldest son to them. Thank goodness I didn't.

As they examined my naked son, the husband pulled Ricky's mouth open and
pulled out his tongue. He turned to his wife and said, "Oh, this will do
very nicely for you, dear." The wife then pushed four fingers into Ricky's
mouth, smiled at her husband and said, "I think he'll do a good job for you
as well, sweetheart."

While I was trying to digest this, the husband ordered Ricky to bend over
and pull his cheeks apart. He asked me, "Is the boy a virgin?" I nodded my
head and said, "I'm certain he hasn't gone further than kissing and
touching a girl a bit." The man licked his finger and pressed it into
Ricky's crack as he said, "No, I mean has he taken a dick up his ass?" I
shouted indignantly, "Of course not! He's all-boy, not a homo!" Ricky cried
out as the man's finger jabbed into his anal opening. As he manhandled my
son, the man laughed and said, "Sure, I know that. But he's a slave
boy. I'm not saying I'd fuck him more than once or twice a week, though I'd
sure use that pretty mouth."

I couldn't believe he was saying this in front of his wife and the woman
was standing there smiling as if it was the most natural thing in the
world. I started shouting at them to leave my house. He acted like he was
the injured party and was shouting at me, "I could get an ugly 45-year-old
to work my garden for a third of the price. Why do you think anybody would
pay so much for that boy of yours? With that face and that body a slave
like that is made to get fucked." I had told the man over the phone about
the offer I'd turned down that would have placed Ricky in a fraternity
house, so the angry man now shouted, "And what do you think those drunk
frat boys would've done to your pretty little blond here? Hell, he would've
been so stretched out after a year there... he'd be lucky to get the light
use that I'd put him to."

I was out of breath and Ricky was sobbing by the time those awful people
had left the house. Bob had been standing quietly in the corner. I turned
to him and said, "You see why I didn't want to have him bid on at an
auction. Who knows what kind of people and what kind of uses..." I just
shook my head to get the foul thoughts out of mind.

Bob shook his head in a different way and said, "You've incurred quite a
few expenses in training the boy and you've already put your daughter's
college fees on a credit card. You have to find a buyer for Ricky and
fast." Ricky's sob broke in. Bob looked at him and said, "Chin up, little
fella, it's time to get more proactive in finding a nice buyer for you."

A few days later Bob told me he was bringing two gentlemen to look over
Ricky. I didn't like the idea of two men, but Bob told me they were father
and son. When Warren and Dave showed up, I had a gut instinct that they
were queers. I whispered this to Bob and he smiled and said, "It's just
that they're refined gentlemen. Their shirts are perfectly ironed, their
shoes are perfectly shined, they are perfectly groomed - it's all because
they're used to having slaves care for them."

They stripped Ricky but left him standing there naked, not at all
over-eager to examine him. I learned that Warren was in his 60s and was a
real estate investor. He said, "I have enough money to have retired years
ago, but I have too much fun at my work." Dave was an interior designer and
was just 40. It turned out Warren had adopted Dave years earlier. Warren
explained that his marriage had ended in a bitter divorce. Dave explained
that he just hadn't found the right woman yet.

As the two of them circled Ricky, feeling his muscles, I remarked, "You
understand that my son is totally heterosexual. He's not gay in any way."
Warren laughed and said, "Yes, Bob explained your concerns to us. Let me
assure you that we only like to have straight boys serving us - young
athlete totally hetero like your boy here. We have no interest in having
any sissy queer boys at our place."

I noticed that with all the touching he was experiencing, Ricky's penis had
grown fully erect. Dave slapped the boy's penis and ordered, "Get it soft,
boy." Then Dave turned to me and said, "Hmmm, are you so certain he's
totally straight?" I ordered Ricky to get his penis soft, but he seemed to
be sweating and nothing happened. Then Warren pinched Ricky's arm and
twisted his fingers so that my son cried out. His penis was deflating now.

Dave had a black shoulder bag and he reached in and pulled out something
made of metal mesh. I saw him manipulating Ricky's penis but couldn't see
what he was doing. When his hand pulled away I could see there was a ring
around my son's testicles and that the length of his penis was encased in a
wire mesh enclosure. Warren turned to me and explained, "It's a penis
cage. We understand that boys this age need some release. But we also know
they can be guilty of excessive masturbation. The penis cage makes it
impossible for the boy to get fully erect and impossible for him to
masturbate. It's up to his owners when the cage gets removed and he can get
some relief. And that of course means that it's up to Ricky to be obedient
and willing to please so that we give him permission to touch himself."
Warren then looked right at Ricky and said, "Self pleasure is not a right,
boy. It has to be earned."

I smiled from ear to ear and said, "You are men after my own heart. I'd be
honored if you want to purchase my son."

Warren turned to Ricky and said, "Ricky bend over. Just a few more things
we need to check out." I saw Warren ooze some goo from a container onto two
of his fingers. Then I saw his fingers press down between my son's
cheeks. Ricky howled out, "Dad don't let them. They're homos. I can tell by
how they're touching me." Before Ricky could say more Warren slapped his
butt so hard it echoed through the room. I was immediately apologizing to
both of my guests. Dave turned to me and said, "Do we have your permission
to give him a spanking and to wash his mouth out with soap?" I said,
"Gentleman, if you're still willing to take him, he's yours, so you have
permission to do anything you wish."

I directed them to our large downstairs bathroom. As they dragged him into
the room, Ricky was still crying out, "Dad, don't let them..." I heard the
door lock and then a series of sounds: The clear sound of Ricky's ass being
slapped; Then I heard my boy call out, "No" but the word seemed gargled
into a noise as if his mouth was being invaded; Then a sound that was
somewhere between gagging and slurping; and of course the slapping on his
butt repeated and resonated in the tiled bathroom. These men knew how to
treat a servant boy.

When Ricky managed to call out, "Dad, these homos are trying to..." I
called back, "Ricky, you belong to these nice gentlemen now. You'd better
learn to obey them and to please them." Just then I heard Dave's voice call
out, "Yeah, please us, slave boy." This was followed by a loud groan from
Dave. At the same time the spanking of Ricky's bottom stopped. I could hear
Ricky sobbing softly and what sounded like a zipper and things being pulled
from Dave's shoulder bag.

Suddenly I heard Warren call out, "Is someone at the window there?" I knew
instantly what had happened. My second son, Will, had climbed on the
garbage cans to peek through the bathroom window. This was something he had
been punished for before. I called out his name and went running up the
alley. I had Bob cut him off from the back so I was able to grab Will by
his shirt collar and drag him back into the house. When we entered the
house, Ricky was between his two new owners, his handcuffs attached to the
back of his collar, his penis in the wire mesh cage, and an unusual gag in
his mouth. It was clear Ricky had been crying, but when he saw his brother
and me he seemed to be struggling to tell us something. Of course all he
could was grunt.

I pulled Will instantly over my lap, tugged down the back of his jeans and
the back of his briefs and began to smack his bottom. He was calling out,
Ricky was looking frantic, and the three other men in the room were all
smiling as they watched the scene. Dave kept saying, "Oh, don't be so tough
on the boy. He's just curious." Warren chuckled softly, "Looks at that
round butt. Clearly some features run in the family."

Will fell off my lap to the floor his reddened butt in full view. He
scrambled to his feet trying to hide his exposed bottom and I said, "Son,
apologize to these gentlemen for peeking in on them." Will glared at me but
then turned to Warren and Dave and said, "I'm sorry I looked." Suddenly my
two guests looked nervous as if waiting to see what Will would say next. My
middle son added, "That was a real cool way you had of washing out his
mouth. It's just what my stuck-up brother deserves."

There was an even more frantic look in Ricky's eyes as his new owners
marched him toward the door. I noticed something that looked sticky
dripping from Ricky's lips and I brushed it away with my finger, remarking,
"Must be a little soap from washing his mouth out." Will looked at Dave up
and down and then said, "Gee, sir, you got something dripped all over your
nice pants." Just as I looked down and noticed what he said was true, Will
added, "Must be from when my brother was trying to spit that soap out of
his mouth, huh?" Dave reached into his pocket and handed Will a 50-dollar
bill, then patted him on the head, saying, "What a bright young fellow you
are."

As Warren and Dave put my bound oldest son into the trunk of their car, I
called out, "Don't go easy on him. Make sure he takes care of you right."

Warren smiled back and said, "You can trust that as soon as we get him
home, I'm going to be on top of him."

After the car had driven away, Bob showed me the check. I had been figuring
on the $30,000 that Bob told me to expect, but Warren's check was made out
for $40,000. I said to Bob, "Is this the yearly amount now?" He nodded back
and said, "Warren likes to do right by people he likes, and he certainly
likes you and your family."


Bob did a lot of traveling after that, but four months later I got an
invitation to come to Bob's condo for coffee. I was surprised to find
Warren there, looking tanned and rested. I had been told that it was not
proper for family to have contact with their indentured child or to have
contact with their child's master. But it turned out Warren had requested
an opportunity to meet with me.

The small talk was strained. He knew I wanted to know how Ricky was
doing. He leaned back and said, "Your son had a difficult start. He didn't
like to take orders from us. He just didn't want to serve us as we needed
him to. But we trained him."

"I hope you didn't have to beat him too badly," I blurted out.

Warren shook his head. "Not at all. We're enlightened. We had a ring placed
through the tip of his penis. This is even more effective than the penis
cage in keeping boys from erecting or masturbating. Also we could chain him
to the wall by the penis ring. A few hours attached to a wall by a penis
ring can be just as effective in training a slave as a whipping. And
without the nasty marks."

He continued, "But once Ricky was broken in, he was all we had hoped
for. He really learned to please his masters." Warren let out a contented
sigh and then continued, "That's why I transferred Ricky's ownership to one
of my holding companies. He's now working in a resort in the Caribbean. I
own the property. Actually, I own the island. And I own 60-percent of the
resort."

My first reaction was outrage. "That wasn't my understanding when you
bought him!" I went on to tell Warren about my refusing to let Ricky be
purchased for use in a fraternity house. Then I expressed my concerns about
his being at a tropical resort where young people would be indulging in
debauchery.

Warren remained calm and said, "No it's not that sort of place at all. This
is a very quiet place. It's very expensive and is specifically designed for
older gentlemen. It's kind of an unwritten rule that the resort is for men
over 50."

I said, "Gentlemen? Without their wives?"

"Well," Warren continued, "It's sort of a spa, a place men can go to
refresh themselves and not worry about the ladies. There's a golf course,
tennis, some spectacular pools, beaches, massage, anything you can think of
that would pamper a man's body or mind. Also, it's naturist - that means
it's clothing optional. As you can understand the nudity is a little more
comfortable without women there."

I asked, "Everyone is naked all the time?"

"It's clothing optional for the guests. The staff is nude of course. But
then again slaves are usually kept nude most places. Ricky has gotten a
wonderful all over tan."

"Well, if Ricky has to be naked all the time, I'm glad it's a place where
there are only men."

Warren handed me a check for $10,000 and my eyes went wide. He said, "I
know I'm not obligated to give this to you. But your son is now the most
popular slaveboy at the resort. We have to charge members a premium if they
request service from him. In fact he doesn't even have a bed in the slave
quarters any longer. He's always in the room of some guest or other."

"In the room of some guest? What sort of services do these men...?"

"As I said these are very wealthy men. They expect things to be just the
way they want them. One man likes to lie back on a lounge chair and have
Ricky feed him watermelon dipped in Belgian chocolate. Another man likes
Ricky to run his bath and he's very specific about the temperature of the
water. One gentleman of 80, he's a CEO of a multibillion-dollar company -
he likes Ricky to massage his feet for an hour at a time in a footbath."

I shuddered with revulsion as I thought of my teenage son, tanned and
muscled, naked on his knees in front of some 80-year-old codger. But then I
looked at the check for $10,000.

Warren pushed a piece of paper in front of me and said, "I need you to sign
this receipt for the check. It just acknowledges that you received the
check."

"What's all this other writing here?" I asked.

"Oh, that acknowledges that I informed you that your son, of whom you're
the leaseholder, has been moved to a location outside the United States. To
tell you the truth I should've had you sign that before I had Ricky moved,
but... well, we're all friends here, aren't we?"

I nodded and signed. As Warren grabbed the paper from me, he said, "Now I'd
like to speak to you about something else. How would you feel about making
your son Will an indentured servant?"

That question was so unexpected, you could have knocked me over with the
proverbial feather. "Will?" I asked. "He's only thirteen now. Bob had told
me that boys of that age never bring in more than $15,000 a year."

Warren's voice became businesslike as he said "I'm prepared to give you the
same amount for Will as I'm paying you for Ricky. $40,000 a year for five
years."

My mind was reeling when I considered that amount of money. "B-but, why?" I
asked. "Bob told me there wasn't much use for boys of that age and there
are requirements about having to give them schooling and proper nutrition."

Warren leaned back and said, "It would be an experiment for me. I may be
crazy and I may end up losing money. But I think there are some guests at
our Caribbean resort who would enjoy having younger slaveboys taking care
of them."

"Gee," I thought out loud. "He's so young. How many hours a day would he
have to work? How hard would he have to work?'

"Work?" Warren chuckled, "Yes he may have to give a foot massage, or
something similar to that. But how about all the time he gets to spend on
the beach, just tanning or swimming or playing volleyball or wrestling with
the other slaveboys."

"Volleyball? Wrestling?"

"Our guests are older gentlemen. Some aren't able to be active much. So
they enjoy watching our young slaveboys show off with athletic contests. I
do believe that's a big part of the reason Ricky is so popular."

Bob began to explain, "Look the laws on the island are a bit different from
the United States. For instance, legal age on the island is considerably
lower, so that Will would already be considered to be over the age of..."

Warren interrupted, "Working age! Yes, what Bob is trying to say is that
Will would be considered to be legal age to work. But you have my hand of
friendship on a promise that he will not be given strenuous labor to do, no
heavy lifting, and we will keep up his education and nutrition just as I
would if he was in my own home."

I shook his hand and said, "Besides, he'll have Ricky there to show him the
ins and outs." Warren handed me the contract and I signed it. He and Bob
thought it best that I not give Will any advance warning and they would
arrange to pick him up at my house the following night.

Bob arrived with Warren and Dave at 7 and I went to get Will from his
bedroom. When I led Will into the living room and he saw the three men he
tensed up and I held my hand firmly on his shoulder. Bob started reading
the document declaring Will an indentured servant and the boy started to
bolt from the room. I grabbed him under the arms and lifted him off the
floor as Warren and Dave started to strip off his clothes. His t-shirt was
ripped off, his jeans and briefs were tangled at his feet.

Bob snapped Will's new collar on his neck. The boy was frantically trying
to pull free but I was too strong for him. He yelled out, "Dad, don't let
them. Don't let them do this to me. These guys are creeps."

Dave had a gag shaped like a small missile. He was trying to get it into
Will's mouth, but my son kept turning his head as he called out, "Dad you
don't know... what I saw them doing to Ricky in the bathroom... these guys
are..." The gag was firmly in place and Will could only make muffled
sounds. It was a simple matter to cuff his hands to the back of his collar
and to place a short chain between his ankles.

Dave patted Will on the head and said, "That's right, boy. You saw us give
your big brother that very special way of washing out his mouth. And now
you've earned the same punishment yourself." Dave and Warren pulled my
young son to his feet. Warren was trying to calm the boy with the soft way
he said, "But none of that is going to happen until we enter the airspace
of our special island, Will. We're going on a private jet to our private
island in the Caribbean. And once we get into the airspace of the island,
we'll have a special party on the plane with you as the guest of honor."

I tried to cheer up my distraught son, naked and shackled, by saying,
"Isn't that exciting, Will? There will be some other men on the plane with
you. Each of them is paying 10's of 1,000's of dollars to go to that
private island, but you're going to the island for free."

Not exactly free, I thought to myself. He would have to work there. And
yet, how tough would the work be in a tropical paradise like that? What
sort of demands could rich old men have on a cute little boy like Will?

I was pleased to see that Warren and Dave sat Will in the back seat between
them, instead of placing him in the trunk as would be standard with a
slave. I mean, an indentured servant. The last thing I heard Warren saying
to my boy was, "On this island, you're considered to be legal age,
Will. That means we can treat you like an adult. Isn't that what every
little boy your age would like - to be treated like an adult?"


I followed Bob's advice and invested the money I got from selling my boys
into indentured servitude. Things haven't gone too well with the money. Bob
is very apologetic about his investment advice but he says he's sure things
will improve. I've given my twins as collateral but Bob says not to worry -
it would take a series of unlucky turns before I would have to hand over my
youngest sons. Besides, I tell Bob, the twins are still so young. But he's
told me that since Will arrived at the Caribbean resort they've brought in
more younger boys and lowered what they call legal age on the island even
further. He said the younger boys are becoming so popular the resort might
end up transferring Ricky to another location. This was the first I heard
about Warren owning resorts in Thailand, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Africa,
Eastern Europe and South America. I was impressed but didn't like the ideas
of my sons being split up - especially not if there's a chance the twins
may end up joining their brothers. If that were to happen at least I'd feel
better knowing they had Ricky and Will there to teach them how to take care
of the needs of older gentlemen.

I felt kind of creepy the last time I took the twins to Bob's condo for
their monthly nude photos. Of course they don't know anything about the
bank loan and just think taking naked pictures is a game. Bob asked for
some new poses. He had the boys wrestle together. Then he gave them
popsicles to eat and had a contest to see which boy could get the popsicle
furthest in his mouth. I asked him why he was making them pose like this
and he said, "Oh, just something for the fellas at the resort to enjoy."
Then he reassured me not to worry. He's optimistic something will come
through for me financially. It's good to have a friend like Bob.