LUKE'S SUMMER INDENTURE

CHAPTER FOUR As Told by Slaveboy Luke (the former Lucas Peyton)

Mr. Cruz, the man who has indentured Luke for the summer, narrated the first three chapters of this story. For this chapter, Luke takes over the storytelling. At the end of chapter three, Mr. Cruz and retired slave trader, Mr. Thrush, had just finished shaving and cleaning the newly-enslaved teenager. The doorbell rings. It's Luke's younger brother who's brought a bag of the slaveboy's free boy clothes.

In this chapter, Luke quickly chronicles the circumstances of his short-term enslavement, and then picks up the story from the point where Mr. Thrush attaches him to a punishment frame and his younger brother is ushered into the room.

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I keep going over that first day in my mind. I had planned to go the swim club with some buddies, but I stayed home to mow the lawn, trim the shrubs and do other household chores. I wanted to show my mother how responsible I could be so she would trust me to spend the summer alone.

The previous night my mom got a call from a famous university in California; there was an emergency and they needed someone to take over this special summer program. They needed an answer in the next two days, and if she was going to do it she had to travel there before the following Monday. This program was in the same subject area my mother taught at our local university, so it would be a great professional opportunity for her, and also a big chunk of extra money.

The money was an important part -- since my dad died some years earlier we had been struggling financially. Because we owned the house outright, we stayed living in this expensive community. But all my friends from school had slaves at home, as well as fancy vacations and cool gadgets. I was known as the poor kid. But the rich kids (meaning everybody else) put up with me because I was good-looking, popular and captain of the school baseball team. I was even able to go to the local swim club daily as a guest, even though my family couldn't afford a membership.

So my mom was excited about this summer job offer she had in California. But her immediate problem was that she couldn't bring along my brother or me. My grandfather (my dad's father) was willing to let my kid brother stay with him, but he wouldn't consider letting me stay there. Good! The old man was a tyrant who believed that "growing boys need to have lights out at 9:30 pm." My younger brother was a mellow kid and somehow got along with the old grouch.

I didn't see why my mom had a problem. I had recently turned 18 and felt I could stay at the house myself. I even suggested to my mom that, with the extra money she would be earning in California, we could rent a slave two afternoons a week to clean. But she would hear none of it.

A few months earlier I had gotten in trouble for a dumb prank at school. I thought putting a firecracker in the trashcan would be funny. I had no idea it would burn down one of the goal posts on our football field. My mother had to pay to replace the goal post, which our family could barely afford. My mother and I both had to listen to the principal's lecture about, "You're lucky you're still seventeen. If you were eighteen and caused this amount of damage, you would be heading for the auction bloc for sure."

Now with summer in front of us my mother would not let go of this incident. She insisted she couldn't trust me to leave me alone in the house.

So I set out the next morning to show her how responsible I could be. I started off by putting my clothes and my brother's clothes into the washing machine. Then I changed the oil in mom's car, which left me greasy and covered with sweat. I ran up to my bedroom to strip off the filthy clothes, but I knew I couldn't shower due to low water pressure (with the washing machine going), so I just wiped myself off as best I could with an old towel.

Then I realized most all my clothes were in the laundry, so I pulled on an old pair of school gym shorts. These green shorts were already frayed at the leg holes and there was very little elasticity left in the waistband. I had to keep pulling them back up as they kept sliding down. But it was a hot day and this seemed like the best way to dress to mow the lawn.

If only I had put off mowing the lawn till the next day. Or maybe if I had mowed the lawn a few hours earlier before Mr. Cruz moved into the house across the street. Maybe if I'd been fully dressed with a shirt and pants, Mr. Cruz wouldn't have seen me and thought of me as such an obvious slaveboy. But the fact was I was out there, looking sweaty and greasy, shorts slipping down my hips, when our new neighbor first ogled me from his window.

So the man did mistake me for a slaveboy. And he talked my mom into signing a contract for a summer indenture. Instead of lounging at the swim club, I would spend the summer before college as a slaveboy for this rich Southern man. At least my mother offered to split the indenture money with me -- and Mr. Cruz had made a generous offer for my services.

I figured it would be unpleasant having to be a servant to this man and his son. But I didn't realize how seriously he took this slave business until I tried talking to him and he pressed an electric slave prod to my neck. It felt like every nerve ending in my body was jumping around as I shivered on the floor. This was followed by a smack across the face, and then the slave prod being used by Mr. Thrush, the nice, jolly old man who lived down the block (at least that's how I thought of Mr. Thrush before I became indentured).

Soon I was standing naked in Mr. Cruz's bedroom, my hands behind my head, as both of these older men felt me up. They may claim they were "examining the merchandise," but it sure seemed to me that I was getting felt up. My brother and I used to joke that maybe Mr. Thrush was a perv, given the way he looked at us. Now I felt the old man's hand gripping my bare butt cheeks as he made a crude comment about my ass.

I'd rather forget about the enema they gave me. After that I was ushered into this big glass-enclosed shower stall, still naked and with hands behind my head. I watched with horror as both of these men stripped down. Mr. Cruz was fit with an impressive furry chest, but with an extra 20 pounds. Mr. Thrush was much older and his belly was so round it looked like a flesh-colored beachball. As they entered the shower with me I couldn't miss the erections sticking up in front of each of these men.

The two men soaped me up and I had no choice but to let them. Mr. Cruz's hard dick kept slapping against my stomach and the fat man's erection slapped on my butt cheeks. I was ordered to start soaping up and washing my new Master, but I'd hardly started when the man brought my soapy fingers down to his penis.

He told me to soap him up real good down there, but all I was doing was masturbating his cock. Back in middle school some of my buddies tried to get me to play strip games or be part of a circle jerk. I always refused. So now, Mr. Cruz's big hairy dick was the first I'd ever touched.

Mr. Thrush had his lips to my ear and was prattling on, "I know you and your brother thought I was perving on you boys. In part you were right, Luke. When I'd see you shirtless I'd wonder how your body would fill out and what price you'd fetch on an auction bloc when you came of age. And those tight jeans your kid brother wears always made me wonder how he'd look on an auction bloc."

I shuddered and tried to concentrate on the hairy erection I was stroking. Mr. Cruz's big powerful body was grinding into me from the front as he grunted, "You're good at this, boy." I was embarrassed and just looked down at his cock. But he grabbed me by the chin and forced me to look up at him. "The proper answer is `Thank you, Master'."

Before I could finish saying the last word, Mr. Cruz kissed me hard on the lips and forced his tongue into my mouth. I could taste alcohol and garlic as he breathed into me. I felt the man's big cock pulsating and shooting off in my hand. Some of the spunk splashed on my face, then there was a splash on my chest and the rest shot on my belly and dripped down. At the same time, Mr. Thrush's cock was pulsing on my bare ass. I felt the fat man's cream shoot on my skin and felt it dripping down the backs of my thighs.

But just as that happened, Mr. Cruz pushed me toward the glass wall of the shower and out of the stream of water. "Don't wash it off, boy. That's the sperm of free men -- it makes a good decoration for a slaveboy's naked body."

I used the towels to wipe off both of their bodies, but wasn't allowed to wipe myself. Just as I was finishing, the doorbell rang. I heard my brother's voice from the intercom, and then I saw Mr. Cruz wrap one of the fluffy white towels around his middle as he went down to the door.

Mr. Thrush was tasked with attaching me to the punishment rack in the grand bedroom. The previous owners must have taken their slave punishment seriously, because they had quite a set-up. My hands were hooked high above my head and my legs were left to dangle, although I saw different attachments at the bottom where my feet could have been chained.

Directly in front of me there was a set-up of three mirrors so I could see everything going on behind me. When the fat man cinched my wrist too tightly, I exclaimed, "Ow, that's too tight."

He smacked my ass with his open palm and sounded frustrated as he said, "It'll go easier on you if you remember to always address free men as Sir. I'm getting tired of reminding you, boy."

"Sorry, sir. Thank you for the correction, sir," I said softly. "Sir, permission to ask a question?"

He nodded to me, but cautioned, "Watch that you're not insolent, boy."

I swallowed hard thinking of how to word this, "W-when you did what you did in the shower, sir... I mean, the way you were touching me and the way your penis was... ummm, what I mean, sir...."

"Oh, get on with it, Luke."

"All those years you were so nice to my brother and me, you came to all my swim meets and wrestling matches and... well, did you want to do that to me back then? I mean... um, what you did in the shower, sir, spunking on my rear end?"

His fingers stroked down my body in a loving way as he said, "I spent a thirty year career dealing in slaveboys, mostly young attractive bucks like you are now. Imagine there's a man who spent a proud career dealing in rare collectible cars. Of course, he can't help looking over a beautiful car he sees on the road. He'll wonder about the value, about its upkeep, about improvements he might make to the car, even though he doesn't ever expect to drive the vehicle. Do you see what I'm saying, boy?"

When I looked at him in bewilderment, he continued, "Having been a slave trader, specializing in young bucks, it's natural that I look at teenage boys through a slave trader's eyes. The vast majority of teen boys are crap that should be sold in lots to mines or factories. But when I see a special one it's natural that I wonder what he'd look like on the auction bloc -- when he's of proper age of course. Or I'll see a boy and think I could turn a good profit on that one by putting him on a diet and exercise regimen. Or whether some certain little buddy of yours would sell well in Africa. That sort of thing."

The door opened and Mr. Cruz entered along with his son, Cameron, and my kid brother. Mr. Thrush was still in his towel, so he grabbed his clothes and headed toward the bathroom, "So sorry, I didn't realize."

Mr. Cruz was also in his towel, showing off his hairy chest, but he just laughed and said, "What are you getting dressed for? We're still prepping the new slaveboy." He then turned to my brother and said, "You want maximum comfort and easy movement when you're prepping a slaveboy, Tommy. You also don't want any of your nice clothes to get messed up. Where I come from the men often get naked to work on a newly-enslaved boy's body."

Tommy's eyes were so wide he seemed in a trance as he approached my helpless body and said, "Wow, now Luke's the one without any hair on his pecker."

"Fuck, Tommy, get the hell out of here!" I screamed without thinking.

Without a pause, Mr. Cruz picked up a paddle and gave me five hard swats on my exposed ass. My body was swinging, because my legs weren't chained down, and I yelled in discomfort with each smack. "I'm sorry, sir. So sorry, Master."

Tommy was at the door mumbling, "Maybe I better go." But Cameron was blocking his way, telling him, "Relax, kid, this is a good learning experience for the new slaveboy. If slaveboys didn't make stupid mistakes like that, how could their Masters correct them?"

Mr. Cruz grabbed me by the neck and I thought he would choke me. But he just forced me to turn and look at my younger brother. "What do you call that person standing over there by the door?"

I thought this was a trick question and couldn't think of the answer. When the man's fingers tightened on my throat I said, "Sir... I call him Sir, Master."

"Right," my Master smiled. "You could also refer to him as young master Tommy. He is a guest of your Master. And what do you have to say to young master Tommy, slaveboy?"

I swallowed hard. "Th-this slaveboy apologizes for speaking disrespectfully to you, young master Tommy."

Tommy was smiling now and approached the rack where my body was hanging helplessly. "Why's he hanging there, Mr. Cruz?"

"Back in Kentucky we always whip a new slaveboy just to give him a taste of the lash, so he understands he is different from free people. Because your brother's contract restricts my use of the whip, I will give him 25 smacks with the paddle instead." He pulled back my head and said, "Consider yourself very lucky, slaveboy."

"Yes, Master, thank you, Master." I was on automatic now, responding as I was supposed to.

"You can touch him anyplace you want, Tommy," said Cameron as he fondled my balls. Cameron was my age, lean and good looking with dark curly hair and lots of freckles. He was dressed in cut-off sweatpants and a tanktop. Tommy came around behind me and I felt his soft hand on my inflamed butt cheeks.

"You sure did leave red marks with that paddle, Mr. Cruz."

"Yes, and those were punishment for the way the stupid slaveboy spoke to you, son. I haven't even started on the 25 to initiate him into slavery." The man's hand joined my brother's on my exposed ass. "The nice thing about the paddle, lad, is that it doesn't leave permanent marks. By tomorrow those red marks will be gone, but the boy will still feel an ache that helps him remember to behave properly."

Mr. Thrush returned to the room fully dressed and sat in a big armchair in a corner. "I'll be here if anyone needs my assistance," the fat man said, and then he put his hand down into the front of his pants and watched.

Tommy's moved around to my front, squeezing my pectoral muscles and tweaking my nipples. His fingers felt something on my skin. He took his fingers away and smelled them. "Is this some kind of slave oil for his skin?"

"Not quite," Mr. Cruz answered jovially. "It's sperm."

Tommy wiped his hands off on my leg as he said, "He jizzed himself?"

"No, no," my owner clarified. "That's my sperm on the front of the slaveboy. And Mr. Thrush's on his rear." I noticed Mr. Thrush blushed and put his head down as if he were asleep.

"You beat off on my brother, Mr. Cruz?" Tommy asked flatly.

"Of course not. I had the slave masturbate my penis for me, Tommy." When my younger brother stood frozen at that response, the older man continued. "Normally, back in Kentucky, we would break in a new slaveboy like this by sodomizing him. Do you know what sodomizing a boy means, Tommy?"

Now it was my brother's turn to blush and look down. He mumbled, "You stick it up his butt."

"Right. But given the restrictions on your brother's summer indenture, we couldn't do that. So we needed some other way to let the boy know that he was now my property, to be used as I see fit."

"B-but isn't it queer to get a handjob from a guy or to put your thing up a boy's bottom?" my brother asked in all innocence.

"Of course it's a homosexual act if you do it with another man, or if you do it with a free boy. But sexual use of a slave -- where I come from that's expected, there's nothing homosexual about it. In my strata of society, a woman would be furious if her husband was sticking it to another woman, but think nothing of husbands getting release from slaveboys."

Mr. Thrush piped up from his corner, "Our New York schools don't have Understanding Modern Indenture curriculum like the Southern schools have. Otherwise, Tommy would have already been exposed to all of this."

Mr. Cruz opened the bag that Tommy had brought in and pulled out my dark blue suit. He laughed, "What does your mother think we're dressing him for? We're not taking him out to dine at the Ritz."

Tommy stammered, "She thought m-maybe if he's gonna serve guests you'd want him in a dark suit."

The older man tossed my good suit on the floor as he smiled at my brother and said, "That's not how we dress our slaveboys back in Kentucky. Tommy, could you help out and bring me any underwear or sports gear from the bag?"

Tommy was soon down on his haunches placing a pile of neatly folded boxers on the bed. Then he added my wrestling singlet, various pairs of soccer shorts, jockstraps, old gym shorts and briefs, and finally even the tattered green shorts I had worn to mow the lawn earlier in the day.

Mr. Cruz picked up an old dingy jockstrap and looked it over, before handing the garment to Tommy and saying, "Let's see how this looks on the slaveboy." When Tommy was slow to respond, the man sounded impatient. "Just pull it up his legs so we can see how he looks." Tommy did as he was told, but had trouble stuffing my hard dick into the pouch (considering that he was trying hard not to touch my dick).

My owner circled me, then turned to his son, Cameron, to say, "He could work around the house dressed like that. Don't you think?"

Cameron shrugged, "Back in Kentucky we could have him tend the front gardens dressed like that. But I don't know what New York State law says about showing off a slaveboy's bare ass right on the street."

Next I was dressed in a pair of my boxers, but my Master declared them too baggy and said they hid too much. He found a much smaller pair of boxers that were among the first I'd gotten three years earlier. My hard cock was sticking out of the leg opening and Mr. Cruz declared himself pleased.

My old briefs were discolored from too many washes and were even older than the boxers. I remembered wearing them back in middle school. It was a struggle for Tommy to stuff my ass into the tighty whities, and a few inches of my dick was sticking up over the waistband. I blushed just looking at myself in the mirror. Mr. Cruz's hands were feeling the small pair of underpants and everything they covered.

Finally, my brother pulled the tattered green shorts up my legs. They hadn't been washed since I wore them to work on our lawn and were covered with sweat stains. The lack of elastic in the waistband caused them to slide low, once again. I knew the top part of my ass crack was exposed, and I felt Mr. Cruz finger me right there as he chuckled, "I saw this crack from across the street and knew that I wanted to own you, boy."

After my new owner said that, Tommy was looking at him with fear in his eyes. Mr. Cruz stripped me once again and grasped my butt cheek and thigh as he turned to Tommy and explained, "This is where the power lies in a slave's ability to work hard. It's not so much about strong arms to carry things, but a lower body that can take the pressure." Then the man put Tommy's hands on my bare flesh and taught the boy to dig in with his fingers. I had to close my eyes. This pervy man was now teaching my younger brother to feel me up.

Cameron broke the tension by suggesting brightly, "Maybe Tommy could help us prepare the new slaveboy, dad?"

"How about that, Tommy?" Mr. Cruz asked. "They say if a family member participates it helps the slave better understand his new status in life."

"W-what would you want me to do?"

"First off, attach each of the slaveboy's ankles to one of these chains on the rack. Then his body won't sway when his butt is smacked." Tommy got down on the floor and did as the man had asked. My legs were stretched wider than was comfortable, but then again comfort is not a feature of a punishment rack.

Meanwhile Cameron wrapped his fingers around my erect cock and started stroking it slowly. "We need to get a sperm sample from the slaveboy. That's always standard in the first hours that you take ownership of a new slave. Maybe you could milk him for us, Tommy. I'll hold the bowl to collect his cream."

The freckle-faced teen placed my brother's fingers around my hard dick, even guiding them to stroke up and down. "Go on, Tommy. A boy your age is an expert at jerking off a cock." When Tommy looked around and saw everyone watching him, he pulled his hand away and wiped it on his pants.

"Maybe I can do something else," he said, his face flushed.

Mr. Cruz was toying with the paddle as he asked, "Any experience with beating a slaveboy's butt? My son here is president of his school's Young Whipmaster's Club."

Tommy giggled nervously, "Nah, we don't have any kind of club like that. We have a branch of the Slave Rescue Society on our campus. But I only joined because of all the pretty girls there. They're softies for slave sob stories."

Meanwhile Cameron had stripped down to his white briefs. His body was lean and his muscles well-defined. The teen looked like he had eight-pack abs and zero body fat. As he sat down in front of me and started to milk my cock, he nodded to Tommy and said, "It's easier to do all these things to a slaveboy if you're more comfortable. That shirt and pants look kind of tight on you, Tommy."

Tommy grabbed onto himself as if he was afraid someone was going to strip him. "I'm OK." He half-way turned his back on the other men, but I could easily see in the mirror that he was trying to adjust his erection in the front of his light blue jeans. I think everyone else in the room saw my brother's boner as well, but nobody acknowledged it.

Mr. Cruz had Tommy stand next to him as he raised the paddle high. I was newly aware that my Master was still only wearing the white towel around his middle. His hairy chest was fully exposed, and where the towel parted I noticed his dick was rising and could easily be seen. I wondered if he was purposely displaying it for my brother.

SMACK! It landed hard on my left cheek. "Thank you, Master," I grunted. Another SMACK! This one on my right cheek. "Thank you, Master." The swats of the paddle were evenly timed out, left, right, left, right. Then just as he was at number ten, the man started paddling me hard and fast. SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK! Sometimes there would be a succession on one cheek, and sometimes he would alternate. I tried to say "Thank you, Master," but I choked on all the mucus in my throat, and besides I couldn't say it fast enough.

When my Master stopped paddling my bare bottom, his towel had fallen off. His big hairy cock was more than half-way hard and my brother was staring at it. Tommy's left hand was in his pants pocket clearly squeezing his own erection. Mr. Cruz nonchalantly walked across the room naked and picked up a pair of blue boxer shorts from an open suitcase. He pulled them up his legs, but there was a prominent tent where his boner raised the left leg of the underpants.

"How about taking a turn with the paddle, Tommy?" Mr. Cruz said in the most casual way. "Maybe we should make the last five easier on the slaveboy."

"Idunno," Tommy mumbled. "I never did anything like this before. But, well," he grinned. "I was the school ping pong champion and I used a ping pong paddle pretty good. So I don't know if I'll go so easy."

Tommy took the paddle in his hand and tried swinging it through the air a few times. He raised his arm and slammed the wooden thing against my bottom and my body thrust forward on the punishment rack, before swinging back in place again. That sure didn't feel easy to my tender butt flesh.

"Very impressive start, Tommy," Cameron said as he continued to milk my cock, moving his hand faster so it was a blur. "I bet your big brother used to tease you and make your life miserable, Tommy. Now's the time to pay him back."

SMACK SMACK SMACK! Each one was well aimed and delivered with force. Then Tommy yelled out, "And this one's for making fun of me for jerking off with my buddies. Now you've jerked off a grown up man so you can just shut up."

That last smack sent my body into spasms. I realized I was creaming all over Cameron's hand. He was aiming my cock head into the nearby bowl for collection. And I noticed he also tasted my spunk off his fingers.

There was a howl from my younger brother, as if he was wounded. When I saw him in the mirror, turned away from everyone else in the room I was immediately aware of the spreading wet spot on the front of his light blue jeans. It was clear he was spunking in his pants, and it was a powerful and plentiful cum.

"I better go," Tommy said, turning toward the door with his hands trying to cover the front of his pants. The wet spot was too large and spread out for his hands to cover or hide it.

"Hey, don't feel bad," Cameron said as he stood up with the bowl of my sperm. His hand was now manipulating his own erection in the white briefs he was wearing.

"If you knew anything about slave handling, Tommy, you would know that all this is expected and natural in such a situation." As Mr. Cruz spoke, his erection stood up fully from the leg of his boxer shorts. "In fact, I'm only disappointed that your spunk didn't go onto the new slave's body, alongside mine and Mr. Thrush's loads."

Tommy hurried out of the room, mumbling an indistinct thanks and goodbye. Cameron followed him out. Mr. Thrush lifted himself from the comfortable chair with a great deal of effort. He came over and fingered my cock. "Still stiff?"

"It should be with the dose of purple pills I put into the slave's water earlier."

When Cameron came back in the room he was waving my younger brother's white briefs and grinning. "He sold them to me for $20." He stuck his finger into the puddle of sperm, then tasted it. "When I told the kid we wanted the undies so we could make the new slaveboy lick up his own brother's spunk, he got excited all over again. He likes any idea that will bring his big brother down. Apparently our Luke acts all high and mighty to his kid brother."

Cameron positioned the white briefs over my face so that the puddle of my brother's cum was right over my mouth. "You better suck all those completely dry and clean, slaveboy."

I had often complained about Tommy's body smell. Now I had his ball sweat directly over my nose, and my tongue was lapping at the jizz that was still warm from his cock.

Mr. Thrush asked Cameron to help take me down from the punishment rack and said, "I want to show you gentlemen a neat way we got around the no-insertion clause in the past."

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(to be continued)