A DEFINING MOMENT.
This is a work of fiction.
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Part Two.
Knowing that Adam would be coming up for auction shortly, I cornered my father in his study at the first available opportunity when he appeared to be in a good frame of mind.
"Dad, I've been wondering. You know my birthday is coming up soon and I'm assuming that you and Mom will be giving me some sorta gift." I smiled with feigned embarrassment. "Well, I thought maybe that, rather than get something I don't really need, I could like discuss it with you first."
He smiled indulgently. "Well, son, the thought had crossed our minds. We haven't taken any decision yet so maybe this is a good opportunity to discuss it. Do you have anything in mind?"
"Dad, when Brad turned sixteen, you said that he had sorta crossed into adulthood and you offered him the option of having his own slave. I know he is the elder son, but I was wondering if maybe the same applies to me."
"Michael, the fact that Brad is older makes no difference in my eyes. You are both my sons and you will be treated similarly no matter what. Brad turned down that offer in favor of that damn BMW but I think it would have been in his interests to have had the responsibility of controlling his own slave. Sixteen is a good age to start taking on the responsibilities of being a man."
"So, Dad, are you saying you are prepared to make me the same offer as Brad? I really think that the extra responsibility would do me good. I'm sorta getting over messin about like I always have and, if I didn't have to worry about stupid chores and stuff, the extra time could be used to improve my grades. I'm beginning to understand now how important it is to get into a good college."
"Well, son, I must say I like your attitude. If that is what you really want, I'm prepared to go along with it. I'm sure your mother will agree. I could attend the next auction at Slaves R Us and see what's on offer."
"Dad, I don't know if you've noticed but Brad really seems to be down these days. I think it's got something to do with what happened to Adam."
"Michael, I'd prefer it if that boy's name wasn't mentioned in this house again!"
"I know, Sir, but I was thinking about Brad. He and Adam were friends and I think maybe he's worried that Adam will end up in bad hands. He probably deserves it but I was thinking that if maybe we were to buy Adam, it might make Brad feel a lot better. A slave's a slave but at least here he wouldn't be brutalized and that would ease Brad's mind. Apart from that though, Sir, we know Adam's background well and, if we were able to get him at a good price, it could really turn out to be an excellent investment in the long run. Don't you think so, Dad?"
My father gave it some thought. "Maybe you have a point Michael. Good thinking, boy. But, we really don't need another slave at the moment, so if I were to purchase Adam it could only be to provide you with your own slave in celebration of your birthday. It would then be your responsibility. Are you prepared to take it on?"
"Definitely, Sir."
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Thus it came about that Adam entered our household and was assigned to me as a personal slave. I went down to Slaves R Us prior to the auction and spoke with the owner, a young dude named Kenny Anderson, and he explained to me what usually happened during processing after a slave had been auctioned. I wanted to be prepared. When Brad and I went to pick Adam up after processing we both burst into laughter at the sight before us. He had had the modifications done that my father had agreed to, namely, complete shaving, fitment of large heavy ring earrings and a rather unusual if comical haircut of my own design, and was wearing the dumb outfit that my parents had stipulated our slaves wear. In addition of course he had the mandatory slave number tattooed on his chest and inner wrist and had been fitted with a welded metal collar of my choosing. The dude's humiliation must have been extreme and I thrived on it; payback is surely sweet.
During the next two years he served me exclusively. At the start most of his duties related to the upkeep of my private quarters and looking after my personal stuff. Also he kept my car, and later Brad's BMW also, washed and vacuumed on a daily basis and polished weekly. To see what had been a proud free young guy reduced to the status of a chattel, MY chattel, was a turnon for me that is difficult to describe. I decided to subscribe to a publication aimed at slave owners dealing with new methods of slave management (it is called 'Slavery Today' if you are interested), and convinced my father that Binky (as I had renamed the slave) should he handed over to a professional outfit for special training. I was able to stipulate the nature of that training. He returned in a very cowed state and there was no doubt that his slave status had been permanently embedded in his mind. Fear in a slave is a most potent tool in a Master's hands.
I had had all the usual teenage hang-ups about faggotry and up until that point had not used Binky sexually. However, I decided to use his newly acquired sexual skills and he became a very passable suckslave. Most of the chicks I had known couldn't suck worth a damn but the training Binky had undergone certainly had borne benefits in that regard. My mother, God bless her, had decided to become involved in charitable work and suddenly was out of the house for three afternoons a week. I took advantage of the situation and Chuck, Lawrence and I partied regularly in my room. We often had the company of willing girls and at the end of the afternoon the room was a shambles. And the after-odor was rank; the smell of pussy juices is not for the faint-hearted. For kicks we would leave used condoms lying around the room and when Binky cleaned up he had the task of disposing of them. We thought that that was hilarious. Chuck and Lawrence really took advantage of my largesse as far as Binky was concerned and treated the slave as if it were their property. When we didn't have the company of girls, the situation with Binky escalated and we would have him suck the three of us off in turn. I even engineered a situation in which Brad succumbed to being orally serviced by his old friend and I have suspicions that, whenever I was out of the house after that, Brad had Binky service him in his room.
The acquisition of a personal slave was certainly a defining moment in my life and clearly evidenced itself in what later took place.
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I turned eighteen and graduated high school. Chuck, Lawrence and I partied away the summer and the time came for me to leave for college. I had managed with the aid of a number of phone calls from influential friends of my father, to obtain admission to a rather (in Southern terms) respectable college. I was now faced with the decision of what to do about Binky. Frankly I did not want to be bothered with the baggage of a personal slave at college; it seemed to me that the disadvantages outweighed the advantages. Before taking a final decision, I visited the school and spoke with some of the guys in the dorms and they told me that the dorm slaves that were available were very well trained and took care of all menial tasks most efficiently. It seemed to me that if I could get my laundry done, my room and bathroom cleaned, and the odd errand run, I would manage pretty well. The dorm slaves were not available for sex (although I was betting that for some junk food the odd blowjob would be forthcoming), but I figured that the college babes away from the restraints of their parents, would probably be on the lookout for sex as much as the guys were. I told my father therefore that I did not wish Binky to accompany me. Apparently the slave was offered to Brad but he declined my father's offer once more. As a result my father arranged for Binky to be auctioned off and I heard later that Kenny Anderson had purchased him. I bumped into Kenny in the town one day and asked him what had happened to Binky but he avoided the issue. Those slave guys are like priests and lawyers; they clam up about their dealings. I figure it has something to do with tax but who the fuck knows?
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The big day arrived and I duly enrolled at the college. One of the dorm slaves (a guy of about 25 wearing the standard olive slave garb and iron collar laid down by the college) carried my stuff to my room and then left to park my car. The guy who had been allocated to be my roommate was already there and turned out to be a nice enough dude. He was a high school jock and his name was Skip (what else?). He had been hoping to room with his best bud at high school but unfortunately it hadn't worked out that way and he got me. His bud, Dawson, was in the same dorm but had been allocated another roommie. His name was Jason. For the next couple of weeks Skip and Dawson had nothing on their minds but to find a way to correct what they saw to be a major fuck-up in the way rooms had been allocated. Dawson was at pains to point out at every opportunity what a great guy Jason was and finally they popped the question; would I agree to trade roommies? Of course, during those first couple weeks, everyone was weighing everyone else up and it was common consensus that Jason was a fag. I also thought it probably was the case. Skip and Dawson could see their plans going right down the toilet and were surprised and elated when out of the blue I indicated that I might be prepared to take Jason as my roommie. They moved quickly to try to seal the deal but I informed them that under the circumstances that we all knew about, I would want some monetary compensation. Their faces dropped but I knew that these were rich kids and finally they reluctantly each agreed to pay me $1,000. I didn't need the dough but, what the fuck I thought, they weren't gonna get their way without some kind of penalty. I had noticed Jason surreptitiously eyeing me and I had no doubt he would agree.
Now let me put some matters in perspective here. I was no fag but I had for the past two years been on the receiving end of at least one blowjob a day from a guy. As far as I was concerned it no longer carried any stigma. I figured that if Jason was indeed a fag it might well work to my advantage in that he could replace Binky in many ways. No doubt there would be talk among the other guys but I could take care of myself in any physical confrontation that might arise, and furthermore I could maintain my rep by screwing chicks on a regular basis. The move took place, Jason joined me, and Skip and Dawson were each behaving like a dog with two dicks. I began to wonder if perhaps THEY weren't closet fags.
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Jason was really quite a cool guy. He had good looks (in a softish way) and a nicely proportioned body which he kept toned by playing tennis, running and spending time in the gym. I was pretty sure the last-mentioned occupation had something to do with the locker room. OK, I'm kidding. There was just that something about him that convinced people he was gay. We settled down into our individual routines and frankly kept out of each other's way. I had always been an untidy slob (particularly since I had had Binky to attend to matters) and I began to notice that Jason would pick up after me. If I left dirty clothing lying around, it would find its way into my laundry bag. If I left a sweater or a jacket lying on my bed, it would miraculously find its way into my closet. After I had been in the bathroom and left the place a mess, he would not wait for the dorm slaves to clean up in the morning; he would as soon as he figured I wasn't looking, hang up the wet towels, store my toiletries and wipe the floor. Clearly I had something going here.
I had never shared a bedroom before and, believe it or not, I was a little embarrassed at having to jerk off surreptitiously and hide my hard-on when I got up to piss in the morning. I had had no inhibitions with Binky but that was completely different. Jason didn't stare overtly but I was convinced he stole the odd glance at my hard dick. It was not only the sexual innuendos; I found that he deferred to me in most things and even in company, he would look at me to see my reaction if he was called upon to express an opinion. When we were alone, he basically only spoke when he was spoken to. Occasionally I would need an errand run and he would tell me not to bother with a dorm slave, he happened to be going that way and would do it for me. I decided that this was a situation I could take advantage of and saw it as a possible direct replacement for the Master/slave relationship that had existed between Binky and I.
One morning I got up and went through to the bathroom to take a piss. He was awake and stared openly at my tented boxers. I decided to bring matters to a head, if you will pardon the expression, and so on exiting the bathroom went up to his bed and asked him directly - "Jason, do you want to suck my cock?" He didn't reply, merely looked at my crotch, and I decided that that was a definite 'Yes'. I jumped on his bed, sat on my haunches astride his chest, lifted his head from the pillows and fed him my dick. He took it in his mouth with the gusto of a true cocksucker and soon brought me to a climax. His defenses had been breached and from then onwards I used him sexually on a daily basis. I regularized the situation as far as the tasks he was performing on my behalf were concerned, making it an obligation on his part, and soon had him cleaning the room and bathroom too on the pretext of not having to have a sneaky dorm slave in the room. He took to his new role like a fish to water and not long after, I told him that, out of respect, he should address me as 'Sir' in the privacy of our room.
Those of you who are familiar with dorm life will know that privacy is at a premium and thus it was difficult for me to move our relationship on to further heights. I knew that for both of us it was important to keep up appearances. Eventually I told Jason that in order for us to move on, we had to get an apartment off-campus. He accepted my decision and we obtained a nice place a couple of miles away. Fortunately we were both able to afford the additional expense. This allowed me to implement a new code of conduct for Jason. For example, I forced him to be nude at all times while in the apartment and to wear a studded dog collar when at home. He seemed to revel in the idea of my having collared him and I must confess it was a major turn-on for me too. He had always been proud of his best feature, his longish blond hair, and I decided it would be a good move to pull him down a further peg. I mean wasn't pride one of the deadly sins? I took him in to town and at a barber shop, not his usual hair stylist, had his head shorn all around to about a quarter of an inch. He was mortified but I thought it looked hot. Thereafter I had his ears pierced and ringed. Naturally, I stopped short of the big heavy metal rings Binky had worn, but had him wear smallish gold ones. The coup de grace was a tattoo on his right ass-cheek which proclaimed 'S. O. M. M. S'. It stood for 'Slave of Master Michael Smith'. Cool, huh?
We thus played out a Master/slave relationship in the manner common in the SM world but, for me, it wasn't the real thing inasmuch as I had previously had absolute control over the life and destiny of a true slave indentured for life, a vastly different proposition.
To be continued.........