WILD PUPS SALE 7. RUSSELL: BIG BOY FOR SALE
Russell is the big blond football player who narrates parts 3 and 4 of the story. He has already confessed that he has exhibitionist tendencies and is getting an erotic charge out of being displayed, shackled to a platform, for gays. (If you read this story on a yahoo group, chapters 6 and 7 may be reversed. Since both boys are describing their experiences being on pre-auction display, the order of these chapters is not significant.)
By Master Redbeard r -- e -- d -- b -- e -- a -- r -- d -- e -- d -- s -- f at y a h o o dot com
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- RUSSELL: BIG BOY FOR SALE
The preview crowd slowly and quietly came into our display area. But one group of three boys came running in fast and I heard screeching, "Omigod, it's really him. It is." I recognized the voice instantly. It was Cyril, our school's resident homo boy. I always teased him. I thought it was good-natured, but I guess he saw it another way.
I'd catch him staring at me in the hallway and I'd grab my dick through my shorts and grin, "Just because I know how much you want it, you can't have it, sissyboy." I swear when I said it I didn't know "sissyboy" was an insult. I only found out after I got sent to the Dean for using the word. I went back to Cyril and told him I'd let him suck my dick if he would stop complaining about me, but he insisted it was some teacher who overheard me and reported it.
Cyril was running up behind me, flanked by his two queeny buddies. His long fingers snaked up the leg of my boxers and tickled my balls from the back. "What do you say, slaveboy?" he hissed at me.
Unsure how to answer, I stammered, "Th-thank you, sir?" But it came out as more of a question than a statement.
Cyril whacked my butt and I felt a stinging. The guard stepped forward and asked, "Please sir, remove your rings if you're going to spank the slaveboy."
Cyril came around in front of me and coyly replied, "Oh, so sorry. I forgot." But the look he gave his two buddies told me he knew exactly what he was doing. "Besides this slaveboy gave me an insolent reply."
The guard negotiated my punishment with Cyril, once more focused on not marking up my flawless ass. They settled on Cyril using a short cat to flog my balls. My boxers were peeled down to my knees. My erection was sticking upright in front of me unflagging. The guard ordered me to spread my legs wider, and then forced my legs even further apart as a crowd gathered to watch.
The first swipe of the cat felt like nine paper cuts across my tender balls. I squealed in a high-pitched tone. The crowd laughed, especially Cyril and my tormenters. As soon I swallowed though, I followed that with, "Thank you, sir."
Another swat. I gritted my teeth and said, "Thank you, sir," with the closest I could muster to a forced smile. I know there were tears down my cheeks when Cyril got to the last lash on my balls. He stood smugly looking up into my face. Then he put his hand down the front of his pants. When he lifted his fingers, they were dripping with the juice from his cock.
He brought his sticky fingers to my lips and said, "Clean them, slaveboy." I gagged just from the idea that I would taste the product of this gay boy's penis. He kept looking up at me as he said, "You always figured I would end up eating your jizz. But you're eating mine instead, Russell."
"Oh man," one of his friends pinched my nipples and eagerly interjected. "Imagine if you show up at the frat next fall carrying this hunk of slaveflesh in a cage."
"To hell with a cage, I'll arrive with our Russell on a leash. He'll carry all our stuff into the frat house on his back, like the pack animal he was meant to be." Cyril laughed and added, "Oh, right, Russell didn't hear the exciting news. I've been accepted as a pledge at the Bush University gay frat. I figure if I show up offering them the use of my slaveboy, and my slaveboy looks like our football hero here, they've gotta accept me for sure."
One of Cyril's sidekicks stayed back to pull my boxers back into place. But he tugged my full cock and balls out of the leg hole, so my dick was totally exposed. He softly said, "Every time I saw you in those football pants I dreamed about licking your ball sweat." Then I felt his nose press behind my tender balls and deeply inhale. His tongue licked from between my legs up to the front of my balls.
He grinned up at me and said, "Don't worry, even if you're a slaveboy at the gay frat house I'll suck your dick anytime you want."
I heard Cyril's overly loud laugh. "What makes you think I'd give permission for this slaveboy to cum?"
As they left slowly I heard the ball-licker softly say, "Maybe for a special occasion? I bet a lot of the guys would enjoy having him put on a show for us."
"Only if it involves a lot of humiliation. Maybe for every one-hundred loads of queer cum that gets pumped into him, he's allowed to have one cum of his own? But he has to drink all our piss as he's jerking off." They disappeared through the velvet ropes. I wondered if I'd end up as Cyril's property, drinking piss at a gay frat house.
Then there was a new group of people surrounding me. It was clear that a lot of them weren't serious about buying me, but were people who'd seen me play football and just wanted to get their hands on my helpless body.
There were two older gentlemen who spent a long time feeling me up and talking about the pros and cons of purchasing me. Each of them was old enough to be my grandfather. My boxers ended up down around my feet as one pulled on my balls and the other started to insert his finger into my butthole. The guard nearly shouted as he stepped forward, "Please sir you must use a glove to finger any of the slaveboy asses."
The man seemed put out. "I know this lad's provenance. And I have full faith in the preparations done by this establishment. I want to feel him in the flesh."
The guard came closer and in a quiet voice said, "Please sir, not all of our guests have their fingernails as well-manicured as yours. With so many people wanting to examine this particular piece of merchandise, we don't want to risk lacerations to the soft tissue around his anus."
Mr. Bodoni stepped forward and in his solicitous way said, "Of course Mr. Felch understands our rules and their reasons. But if we can't make an exception for such a good client as Mr. Felch, what sort of business are we running?"
At least the man greased his finger before inserting it into my rectum. He worked it around as if exploring. Meanwhile his partner was attaching various weights to clips on my tender nipples. Nobody had ever told me that nipples are an erogenous zone, but the men of Gaytown couldn't keep their hands off my pecs and tits.
Most of the clients the first two hours were quiet and genteel. But then a man entered with a whooping shout and announced in a thick Southern drawl, "That's him. Take a look at the flanks on that boy." Then I felt two large powerful hands grip my thighs from behind. The fingers dug into the flesh, somewhere between a manly massage and someone trying to hurt me. I tensed my muscles in reaction.
The white-haired man in the white suit came around in front of me, grinning from ear to ear. "What a magnificent beast this one is." As soon as I heard those words, I know my eyes lit up. My chest puffed out broader, my shoulders went wider, my neck straighter. I held my head high.
"Did you see that?" the man shrieked to his much quieter colleague. "Did you see what this beautiful animal did? He heard me praise him and he reacted by holding himself taller and prouder? This is a piece of slave flesh to be admired."
The man beside him spoke in a very quiet voice as he warned, "You don't want to sound too eager to buy him. If you come across indifferent you can always get a better price."
The white haired man looked at his friend with disdain. "Fuck it, this is an auction. I'm not negotiating his price with anybody except the other bidders."
For the first time all day I felt good about myself, even though I was shackled and stripped to my boxers for a bunch of homos to feel me up. I felt like I was on the same wavelength as this man in white. The way he wanted to admire me, made me want to be more worthy of his admiration. He brushed my face tenderly with his fingertips and looked directly into my eyes. "You wanna hold yourself up proud in front of people and display what a fine stallion you are? Am I right, slaveboy?"
I smiled broadly as I started to say, "Sir, ye...." But he slapped my face very hard before I could get the words out
He held up a finger in front of me like a scolding schoolmaster and said, "Those are the last words you will ever utter in my presence, ponyboy. You will have a bit in your mouth, except for eating from your feed bucket, or when your mouth is needed for other purposes. So you must learn to communicate like a proper pony."
I looked at him for a moment startled and confused. Then I nodded my head and made a soft neighing sound, like I figured horses made. He patted my neck and I smiled once again, casting my eyes to the ground. Somehow I knew I had pleased this man, and somehow pleasing this man felt like the most important thing in the world.
He instructed me using a voice like a kindergarten teacher as he showed me how a pony would say "Thank you, Master." I tip my head down, lower my eyes and make a soft bleating sound with my lips. Just working on instinct I had come pretty close to nailing the moves and the sounds -- it seemed to come naturally to me.
The second man started cautioning the white-haired man about the expense of preparing a proper pony. "You remember when you first trained that tall Scandinavian boy, how much it cost just to remove his molars so his bit would fit better. The prices have gone up since then. And you're not even allowed to brand this boy since he is only on a five-year indenture. And given the training he'll need to properly navigate and pull your cart or your trap or your rickshaw -- you may not get any use out of him for another year."
Once more, Mr. Bodoni stepped in to helpfully tell the two men "The new slaveboy's father may be willing to negotiate a reasonable offer for an extra five-year extension. If we at Gaytown Slave Hall can set that up you'd be able to have the parent's endorsement for your purchase, which gives you an extra 5% discount on your bid. And of course you'd then have a free hand at body modifications. I'm willing to contact the family and see what I could arrange... ahem, for a nominal fee of course." As he went to his office to make some phone calls, the white-suited man called after, "Ask them about making it twenty years total. I think this buck has a lotta life in these young muscles."
The man's hands were then all over me and he was rough. "Have a feel of this magnificent ass," he called to his friend.
The second man said, "You know among the proper set a gentlemen never fucks his pony."
"Good thing I'm one of those boorish new rich guys who doesn't go along with those dying old proper gentlemen." He guffawed. "You're telling me I'm supposed to travel home from the office, looking at this fine butt and these magnificent haunches the whole trip and not fuck him when we get back to the stable."
"It's standard that a pair of ponies is stabled together and they form a relationship and fuck each other."
"So I'm gonna spend all this money on this prime football playing hunk of American pony meat, and then let some convict fuck his ass because I'm too much of a gentleman to stick my dick up my own ponyboy? Some people got downright crazy ideas."
Mr. Bodoni came back with a smile on his face, saying that he had my father on a computer hookup and invited these men to join him in his office.
"His name is Russell. Do you think we could call him Rusty?"
"No, Rusty is a name that a regular free boy might have. You can't use a free boy name for a slave. Besides he'll be pulling your rickshaws and carts. You don't want to imply there's anything rusty about your transportation."
"How about Trusty then?"
"I like Trusty. But have you considered QB?"
"Cubey like a box?"
"No, no, the two letters: Q and B stand for Quarterback on a football team."
The man in white seemed to be practicing as he said, "QB my ponyslave. Trot, QB. Prance, QB. Faster, QB." When he said that last he raised his hand as if wielding a whip. "Yeh, I like it. QB, my newest pony slave."
He turned back and spoke directly to me: "I'm Master McKellen and I will be your new owner, QB."
I knew that the auction hadn't yet taken place, but I also heard the certainty in this powerful man's voice. I bowed my head and made a neighing sound, just the way Master taught me to say, "Thank you, Master."
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r -- e -- d -- b -- e -- a -- r -- d -- e -- d -- s -- f at y a h o o dot com