I don't think I need to say it, but I will. This is a fictional story. Not factual. all characters are over 18 in this story. This is my attempt at something different, Enjoy.
I was waiting for Nate at the train station. The trees were full, just turning green again after a harsh winter. Several areas around town still had snow and lots of mud. Sure, it made getting around a fucking mess, but I wouldn't change it for anything. The smell of fresh air and a slower pace of life was just perfect for me.
I was in the truck waiting for the familiar lights and horns of the train as it pulled in to pick up my son Nate.
Nate was getting dumped on my doorstep for the second time this year. Kid was a goddamn parade of red flags in human form. This latest shitshow? A pregnancy scare back in Oklahoma and her family looking to "settle accounts" the old-fashioned way. We both knew what that meant in backcountry towns, either a shotgun wedding or a shotgun, period. Only reason he was breathing free air was because his mom shipped his ass halfway across the country before the girl's brothers could rearrange his pretty face.
Jeannie had washed her hands of him. After fifteen years of marriage, we'd just... unraveled. No fireworks, no screaming matches, just two people who woke up one day and realized they were strangers sharing a bed. I packed up and crossed state lines. She raised Nate, rebuilt her life with Ray, even had a shiny new family to replace the broken model.
"He’s 19 now" she'd said over the phone, voice tight. "I can't have him around the family; I don’t want him to ruin this for me and Ray. Nate has always been feral, Austin. Won't listen to a damn soul." A beat of silence. "He's your problem now."
Three days later, Nate arrived on the night train like damaged goods.
I could not help but think we'd thrown everything at Nate, sports teams, swimming lessons, even some quack with a pocket watch who swore hypnosis would "reset" him. Three weeks of peace was all we got for five grand. Deep down? I always knew Nate would turn out exactly like this, a walking liability with my last name.
Nate came out of the womb marked. While other were still figuring out how to piss without spraying the walls, Nate was playing tonsil hockey behind the jungle gym. By junior high, he'd cycled through girlfriends like socks. Newly graduated and working on being on his own? No more relationships, just a trail of stretched-out pussy across Oklahoma that led directly to me sitting in this goddamn truck at 5:00 PM, waiting for the train carrying my personal tornado.
Don't get me wrong, Nate was built like a fucking wet dream. Years of football and wrestling had carved him into one of those all-American golden boys, broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, muscles that moved like liquid under his skin. He got Jeannie's genetics, that sun-kissed blond hair, those storm-gray eyes that made girls trip over their own feet. Worst part? He knew exactly how to use it. That cocky half-smile, the way he'd roll his shoulders when he walked into a room... Nate was a predator wearing new adult clothes.
Hell, he even fucked a teacher or two, got one of them fired.
But enough was fucking enough. At this rate, Nate would either wind up facedown in a ditch or rotting in a prison cell by twenty-one. The receipts didn't lie, between vandalism charges, bar fights, and that bullshit DUI he barely dodged last summer, the kid had bled me and Jeannie dry. Bail bondsmen knew us by name now.
I'd seen how this story ends. Either some pissed-off redneck would put a bullet between his pretty-boy eyes, or he'd piss off the wrong cartel-connected dealer. Maybe he'd just wrap his Camaro around a telephone pole after one too many shots.
So yeah. Time for a hard fucking reset. If he wouldn't listen to reason, he'd learn the way feral dogs do, through consequences that left scars.
No father wakes up wanting to break his own son. But I was raised in the hush-hush tradition of Southern men who know sometimes you've got to scorch the earth to save the crop. We all grew up hearing those stories whispered between uncles after too much bourbon, the cousin who "went hunting" upstate after getting too friendly with his sister, the way old man Hendrix's boy came home from military school walking funny and never sassed again.
These weren't threats. They were heirlooms. Passed down like silverware and shotgun collections, these lessons in correction written in belt leather and boarding school applications. I'd seen the Harrington boy return from his "special camp" in Colorado so docile he'd jump at his own shadow. Watched the Montgomery girl get shipped to that finishing school in Switzerland after her little abortion scandal, came back speaking three languages.
Now my boy was circling the drain, and I'd be damned if I'd let the Stillward name get dragged through the mud. The tools were there. Every good Southern man knew where to find them.
The train’s horn split the air like a shotgun blast, jolting the sleepy terminal awake. I straightened my jacket and stepped onto the platform just as passengers began flooding out.
Then I saw him.
Nate swaggered off that train like he owned the damn tracks, his duffel slung carelessly over one shoulder. Those gray sweatpants left nothing to the imagination, every thick, swinging step drawing eyes like flies to honey. No underwear. I’d bet my last dollar on it.
He scanned the crowd with that lazy, predatory grin, completely unaware, or more likely, fully aware, of the stir he was causing. A pair of college girls bit their lips as he passed. Even old Bill the sheriff deputy licked his teeth, his gaze lingering on my son’s bouncing… assets.
I raised my hand. Nate spotted me and flashed that golden-boy smile, the same one that had sweet-talked his way out of a dozen suspensions and into God knows how many pairs of panties.
Christ help me. The kid was a walking hard-on with my last name.
"Get your ass moving, boy!" I barked as he loped toward the truck with that stupid, easy grace of his. "Finally fuckin' eighteen!" Nate whooped, all teeth and sunshine as he threw his bag in the bed. When we hugged, I made sure to press close enough to feel the heat of him through those paper-thin sweats. Kid didn't even flinch, too busy dreaming about all the fresh trouble he could stir up in town.
The tires crunched over gravel as I veered off the highway onto the forest road. Handed him that purple-hinted mason jar, my special batch, just shy of a beer bottle's size.
"Shit, Dad, this looks lethal," Nate laughed, but his eyes lit up like Christmas morning. "You're a man now. Bottoms up." He knocked it back like water. My fingers tightened on the wheel.
Didn't take long. Saw the exact moment the shine hit him, that slow blink, the way his tongue darted over his lips. "Fuck, it's hot in here," he slurred, already pawing at his sweater despite the snow-crusted pines whipping past.
"Christ, boy, it's colder than a witch's tit." I yanked his sweater off myself and nearly swerved. Kid was carved like a fucking Greek statue, abs flexing as he stretched. Better than I'd hoped.
When I glanced over ten minutes later, he was out cold against the window. But that thick cock of his stood at attention like a flagpole, straining the gray fabric. Had to bite my cheek to stop from laughing. Oh yeah. This was gonna be easier than breaking a newborn colt.
I jerked the wheel hard, pulling onto a dirt access road. Before the dust could settle, I had his door open and was yanking those sweatpants down to his ankles.
Good Lort!
The kid was bare as the day he was born - no surprise there. His cock hung heavy at half-mast, a solid five inches of thick, uncut perfection already glistening at the tip. I knew from past... incidents... that when fully hard, he packed seven and a half punishing inches and the kind of girth that made girls cross themselves. His balls were a goddamn work of art - heavy as ripe peaches, smooth and hairless like the rest of him.
"Gotta give the bitches what they want," I could already hear him drawling. The little shit had gone full Brazilian shave. Every inch of him looked like it belonged on some high-end porn set - all golden skin and sculpted muscle, just waiting to ruin someone's life.
A broken moan spilled from his lips as I tipped another bottle between them. His throat worked desperately, swallowing like a man dying of thirst even as his body went slack with surrender.
I slid my hand down, fingers curling possessively around his cock and balls. His sharp inhale against sent a thrill through me, proof I had him right where I wanted.
My Son was spread out before me, all lean muscle and golden skin, every inch the perfect specimen I'd helped create. My grip tightened just enough to watch his breath hitch, those storm-gray eyes flashing between his mind somewhere else at the moment.
This was control. Not the cheap dominance of bar fights or vandalism, but the quiet power of knowing every nerve in his body answered to my touch. He was sculpted for pleasure, yes, but more importantly, Nate was now mine to shape.
Nate barely struggled as I threw him over my shoulder, muscled but pliant, his bare skin fever-hot against the winter chill. I took the time to squeeze and rub into his exposed crack as he moaned in pleasure. The cabin loomed ahead, its crooked frame half-buried in snow drifts, a place forgotten by everything but the wind.
The door groaned as I kicked it open. Inside, the air smelled of old woodsmoke and something sharper, oil, maybe, or the ghost of sweat from past lessons taught here. The light cut through the cracks in the walls, catching on the restraints bolted to the far beams.
Nate slumped against the restraints, naked and shivering, his breath coming in ragged puffs of vapor. The cold should have stolen everything, yet his cock stood thick and eager, untouched by the frost creeping across the floorboards. A bead of pre-cum glistened at the tip, betraying him.
"Look at you Son," I murmured, dragging a knuckle down his sternum. His skin pebbled under my touch, not from the cold. "Even now, you can’t help but be a horn dog."
My Son shuddered when my thumb brushed that leaking slit, his body was writing checks his mouth couldn’t cash.
The cabin door creaked shut behind us, sealing us in the dim space I'd prepared. Nate's breathing came quick as I guided him to the center of the room, his bare feet scuffing against the rough pine planks.
"Arms up," I ordered, unfurling the harness. The leather whispered as I drew it around his torso, each strap falling into place with practiced precision. The collar came last - thick enough to mark him, tight enough to remind.
When I guided him through the final restraint, his sharp inhale filled the quiet space between us. Every buckle click, every strap adjustment brought him deeper into the system I'd designed. By the time I secured the last tether to the wall rings, he stood transformed - my creation, my responsibility.
The last of the daylight flooded through the cracks painted stripes across his sculpted form. Even restrained, he radiated a vitality and raw sexual energy,my chest tightening with anticipation of what was to come. This would either save him or break him. Either way, the old Nate wouldn't be walking out of this cabin.
"Son," I said, stepping into his blurred line of sight. The camera's flash punctuated my words like gunshots. "Your mother and I have paid enough for your mistakes. In cash. In shame. In sleepless nights." I said as I continued activating the recording and streaming equipment.
His head lolled against the restraints, golden hair matted with sweat. When he spoke, his words dragged like stones through mud. "D'd... can't..." The harness creaked as he tested it pointlessly.
I circled him, documenting every angle - the way the straps framed his athletic form, the panic dawning behind his glassy eyes. The camera shutter clicked like a ticking clock.
"Oh, you'll feel everything," I assured him, adjusting a strap just shy of too tight. "But here's the beautiful part - you can't run from it. Can't fight it. For the first time in your life, you'll have to face the consequences."
His chest hitched. Not from the restraints, from the terrible understanding dawning in those dilated pupils. His bill was the bill coming due.
His slurred protest died when my palm cracked across his cheek, not to bruise, but to shatter that entitled smirk forever. His head snapped sideways, golden hair swinging. When those storm-gray eyes refocused, they held something new: fear.
"Talking time's over." My voice dropped to a razor's edge as I circled him. "You will pay back every cent. The lawyers. The hush money. Even my '69 Camaro, sold to keep your ass out of juvie." Leather creaked as he strained against the harness.
I leaned in until our breath mingled. "Then you're enrolling at State. You'll graduate with a degree in something useful."
The cocktail of drugs and adrenaline made his pupils swallow the gray. But beneath the haze, recognition my drink was working perfectly.
Finally, I said, coming close to his face, "I will train you to be a whore for hire," I said loudly as he shook his head, his eyes flaring.
His chest rose and fell rapidly as I leaned in, close enough to smell the fear-sweat mingling with his cologne. "You're whatever the highest bidder needs you to be. And by the time I'm done, you'll thank me for showing you your true worth."
The cabin's single bulb flickered to life, casting jagged shadows across his straining form now. Somewhere in the woods, an owl screamed. Nate's breath hitched - not from pain, but from the dawning realization that his old life was already gone.
“Everybody will have the chance to have you as a toy for the night…for the right price I hissed"
My hand closed around his balls and cock with deliberate pressure, working him to full hardness despite his protests. His body betrayed him instantly, swelling against my palm as his breath came in sharp bursts. I twisted his nipples between thumb and forefinger until they stood taut and flushed, watching his restrained legs twitch with involuntary response.
"See how easily you rise to the occasion?" My voice held no triumph, only clinical observation. The disappointment in my tone cut deeper than any blade as his traitorous flesh pulsed against my grip. "Your body knows its purpose, even if your pride refuses to admit it."
The harness creaked as he arched, caught between resistance and the primal response I drew from him with every practiced touch. His skin gleamed with sweat now, the musky scent of his arousal mixing with the pine resin air.
Nate shook his head, his jaw clenched tight.
"No? You’re not loving it?" I murmured, my voice low and taunting.
His denial came out thick and slurred. "N-no... I don’t, "
But his body betrayed him. His muscles tensed, corded arms straining against the restraints as I worked him with ruthless precision. His back arched, every tendon standing in sharp relief, chest heaving, abs taut, thighs trembling with the effort to resist.
His mouth fell open in a silent gasp, breath ragged, words failing.
I leaned in, watching the conflict play out in his eyes, disgust warring with unwilling pleasure.
"You're going to be my Slave Son" I said. "Even if you won’t admit it yet."
A pleased hum vibrated in my throat as I withdrew my touch. His hips chased the lost contact instinctively, the leather restraints creaking with his movement. Fascinating.
I positioned myself before him, studying the flush spreading across his chest, the way his pupils swallowed irises already dark with intoxication. "Do you want this to continue?" My voice carried deliberate calm, contrasting the electric tension between us.
When he hesitated, I let the silence stretch, my unmoving hands the greatest torture of all.
"Ask properly." The command left no room for debate.
His exhale shuddered through clenched teeth before the words tore free: "Jerk me-" The rest dissolved into a groan as I rewarded his obedience immediately. His forehead dropped against my shoulder as waves of sensation overtook him, every ragged breath and trembling muscle confessing what his pride wouldn't admit.
I noticed the first drops of sweat, and I pulled away. He shook violently as if trying to force his orgasm.
The sharp rap at the door made Nate's head snap up. I watched the realization dawn in his eyes as I crossed the creaking floorboards.
"Bill," I said, swinging the door wide. "Right on time."
The sheriff's deputy stepped inside, his polished boots scraping against the rough pine floor. His gaze locked onto Nate's restrained form with the intensity of a hunter sighting prey.
"Damn, Austin," Bill murmured, circling the harnessed figure. His gloved hand trailed along the restraints, testing their give. "You weren't kidding about your son and his ... conditioning."
Nate's breath hitched as Bill's inspection became more intimate - fingers tracing the lines of tension in his shoulders, the involuntary flex of his bound muscles. A low, unwilling sound escaped Nate's throat when Bill's thumb pressed just so against a straining tendon.
I crossed my arms, watching the lesson take root. Every touch, every probing examination, driving home the same truth: Nate wasn't in control here. Not of his body. Not of what came next.
"Nate, you remember Dale, right? My son, a strapping young man, just like you, full of bullshit and problems," Bill said as Nate nodded a yes.
"Well, Austin here helped me straighten him up," Bill said as he jerked my son's cock. "He's in college now, doing great in his classes."
The cabin air hung thick with pine resin and sweat as Nate arched against his restraints. Bill's work-roughened hands moved with deliberate precision, each touch calculated to elicit the exact response he wanted.
"You should've seen your father's face," Bill murmured, circling Nate's straining form, "when he came to me about you." His thumb swiped across glistening skin, collecting evidence of Nate's unwilling arousal. "I immediately said yes" Bill looked at my son with hunger.
Nate's hips jerked involuntarily, his body betraying him even as he turned his face away. The shack's single bulb cast dramatic shadows across the scene, the play of light emphasizing every controlled movement, every strategic touch.
Bill chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through Nate's body where they connected. "Oh, you'll learn," he promised, applying just enough pressure to make Nate's breath catch. "We've got all the time in the world to teach you where you really belong."
I heard Nate's phone ring and picked it up as Bill started breaking down the boy, every few jerks and then a slap across the face.
Laura's name flashed across the screen, Nate's latest fling. I scrolled through their messages, my lip curling at the parade of nude selfies he'd sent her. The kid had no concept of consequences.
I nodded to Bill, who adjusted the lighting with practiced ease. The camera shutter clicked, capturing Nate's restrained form in a dramatic silhouette. In the frame, he looked like some bound Adonis - muscles taut, eyes shut in feigned ecstasy. The perfect illusion.
"Sorry Laura," I typed, attaching the photo. "Occupied tonight." Send.
The phone erupted with calls within seconds. Nate's eyes flew open, the drug haze clearing just enough for panic to set in.
"Recognize this?" I tilted the glowing screen toward my son's face, forcing him to confront the damning image. His pupils dilated - not from the drugs this time, but raw panic.
The phone vibrated violently in my hand, Laura's name flashing like a warning siren. Nate's chest heaved against the restraints, each ragged breath whistling through clenched teeth.
In that moment, I saw the fragile remains of his arrogance shatter. His wide-eyed stare darted between the phone and my face, searching for mercy he wouldn't find. The lesson had finally taken root: every action has consequences, and this was just beginning.
"I don't think I've ever seen Nate this quiet," Bill smiled and then slapped Nate across the face. "Speak up, boy."
"Dad, I can pay you back all the money. Stop this. Let's talk. Let me shhh, " as Bill slapped him across the face again.
I clicked on the phone.
"Laura! What a surprise," I answered, voice dripping with false warmth. Nate's breath hitched beside me.
"Mr. Austin... is Nate there?" Her voice quivered. "He just sent me this... strange photo and, "
I watched Nate's pupils dilate, his throat working silently beneath Bill's warning grip. "Funny you should ask. He's been out for a while with some local friends, something about a shack in the woods” I smiled - “said something about an all-nighter at the lake."
A beat of silence. Then, "Wait, I think I hear him coming back now. He came back for his phone. You know how forgetful he can be" I looked at my Son coldly.
I pressed the speakerphone to Nate's ear. Bill's fingers tightened just enough to feel the pulse rabbiting in his neck. One wrong word, one desperate plea, and the carefully constructed illusion would shatter.
The room held its breath.
The moment Nate croaked out "Hey Laura," her scream shattered the silence: "What the hell is that picture, Nate? Some kind of sick, perverted joke?!"
Bill's hand clamped over Nate's mouth before he could respond. I watched the boy's Adam's apple bob violently against the restraint.
"You've been lying this whole time, haven't you?" Laura's voice cracked through the speaker. There was pain and hurt feelings "All those dates... was any of it real? Do you even like Pussy!?"
Nate's body jerked, whether from Bill's merciless grip or the devastation in her words, I couldn't tell.
"Fuck you, faggot!" Laura yelled “don't ever call me again!” And just like that, Nate's reputation was ruined. I knew a good Southern woman wouldn't risk her good standing in the community, she would stay quiet and move on.
But Nate didn't know that.
I flashed the picture so he could see it. "Imagine what's gonna happen when poor, sweet Laura starts sharing this picture with everyone in town."
A more alert and awake Nate just swung his body slightly as he realized how his life and reputation back home were just eliminated.
I took the phone and turned it off.
"Bill," I said, "you know what needs doing."
My son's head whipped toward me, eyes wide and pleading - the first real fear I'd ever seen in them. Bill just grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Midnight sharp," he promised.
The cabin door hadn't even clicked shut behind me when the first muffled shout rang out. By the time I reached the car, the sounds had morphed into something between struggle and surrender - sexual guttural grunts, choked protests, the occasional deep moan of sexual satisfaction.
I paused with my hand on the door handle. For eighteen years, this boy had been a force of nature, untouchable, unbreakable. Now? Now he was learning what happened to boys who played with matches.
The engine roared to life. “Let the lesson sink in son” I thought. His mom and I were practically broke because of his shit.
I turned on my car as one does and drove down the road to the main house. I needed to prepare Nate's room and the cameras and the equipment.
My phone rang, and it was Jeannie.
"How is Nate doing? Is he too upset with me? He left without crossing words with me. I expected him to call me a bitch or worse," she lowered her voice.
I had to collect myself. "Yeah, Jeannie, he's going to be alright. He's out with friends already, learning new tricks. But have some faith in me, I'm gonna turn this kid around. I need a few months of you ignoring him so he knows we've had enough."
"You're right. I'mma trust you. May the Lord give us both strength and understanding to deal with this boy."
"Night, baby," I said. "Say hello to all the family and ask them to keep this kid in their prayers. He's going to need all the help he can get."
And just like that, we hung up.
The tires crunched over gravel as I pulled into the driveway, the house materializing through the late afternoon twilight like something from a snow globe. Towering pines framed the gabled roof, their branches dusted with the season's frost, the kind of postcard-perfect scene they'd slap on a Christmas card and call 'peace on earth.'
Funny how empty that could feel.
No tire swings out front. No bikes dumped in the flower beds. Just me and three thousand square feet of polished hardwood echoing with all the things we'd never say. The neighbors' places were specks in the distance, their chimneys puffing away like little steam trains headed anywhere but here.
I killed the engine. Somewhere behind me, down that dark snaking road, my son was learning the price of rebellion. And here I sat, in this picture-perfect prison I had built for him.
I got out of the truck to the ping of my phone. The images were eye-opening. The first was a 9-inch dick resting on top of Nate's face. By the look of it, the boy was on his knees, still wearing his harness.
Then another photo about a half hour later, Bill's cockhead in Nate's mouth, the boy had tears in his eyes. Hot
I walked inside and got another photo a few moments later. It was Bill's cock buried to the hilt in Nate's mouth, my son's face flushed and eyes wide open, full of tears... but in the photo, you could see Nate was hard.
The phone buzzed against the kitchen counter:
"I'mma have to give him a whipping. Don't wait up."
Coffee steamed in my mug as I settled into the porch rocker. The property stretched before me - endless pines silhouetted against a slow early morning sun. Beautiful in that quiet, aching way empty places often are.
By the time I reached the third bedroom - that soft-lit space with its plaid curtains and quilted bedspread. That real jewel of this room was clear in the cameras that blinked to life with a series of muted clicks. On screen, shadows moved in rhythmic patterns against the far wall.
Lots of private subscribers that paid a very high amount to see the current merchandise and for the chance of getting a taste.
"How are you doing, slut?!" I said angrily.
The basement air hummed with anticipation. Bill's son knelt in perfect formation, the steel cage's bars framing his athlete's physique like a living sculpture. The black harness accentuated every muscle - shoulders taut from years of training, thighs still thick even in submission.
Its only been a year and Dale has brought in Very Good money, the kid was a natural. I had conditioned him to hate and love being fucked, in constant struggle between his natural Straight Nature and the Pleasure that oversides his better judgement forcing him to submit.
After his debt is paid…And it will take a few years to bring Bill's family from the brink of ruin. Dale would be set free with a new perspective but as Straight as they come. Now ready to continue his family's good standing.
"I've been waiting, sir." His voice carried that practiced reverence now, so different from the defiance of months past. The collar chain jingled as he adjusted his weight, the sound echoing off concrete walls.
I settled into the observation chair, leather creaking. "Begin."
His breathing hitched - just for a second - before those powerful hands moved with mechanical precision. Every motion spoke of hard-won discipline, of lessons carved deep into muscle memory. As Dale got into a doggy position. The cameras overhead whirred softly, documenting what pride had cost him.
Dale quickly spit into his hand and began to jerk himself off. He was lost in lust, not paying any attention to the fact he was being watched. He was used to it now, he loved his cage and his body harness.
To everyone in town, he'd become the towns redemption story. His coach's pet at the university. Volunteering at the local church. Even old Mrs. Wilkins stopped clutching her pearls when he walked by the church bake sales.
They called it rehabilitation. I called it superior conditioning. Same as training a show horse to prance on command.
But he was putting on a show for me, like the slut he was. I walked around to the back of his cage, and he instantly lowered his head so it touched his cage mat, exposing his pink hole to me as he jerked off, his legs tensing and releasing.
His ass was bright red. Coach Martinez had paid good money to fuck the shit out of his star college player and get a recording of it for his own "use." Pastor Paul had done the same, just last week, he did love his altar boys. Pastor Paul was a lot more into breathplay and pain, so we made sure to supervise. Last thing we needed was our property to be damaged. The most religious were the most perverted and kinky, but to each their own.
I noticed the rapid breathing and small dots of sweat on Dale's back, so I decided to help the slut out. I licked my two fingers and roughly plunged them into his pretty pink asshole.
"Aauuuwwww shhhhiiiiit," Dale moaned as he stopped jerking so he could focus on the great feeling my fingers were giving him. I had trained him well, I was happy.
He was begging for me to go deeper. "Please, sir, please make me cum." I loved Bill's son Dale. He was a chiseled masculine boy, a dirty slut I had the pleasure of training. I couldn't wait for Bill to return the favor.
"Siiiirrr," Dale said as his body jerked on its own. His concentration was visible, he was waiting for me to give the order.
Good, I thought... good. "Show me how an obedient slut cums for his master," I yelled, and Dale wasted no time in jerking off with fever and gusto. It was amazing watching him stroke that big, fat cock as his balls jiggled and swayed. Dale's powerful muscles tensed and released like a symphony.
"I'm cumming, sir," he shouted. "What are you, boy?!" I emphasized. "I'm your slave, sir. I'm a fucken slave," he whimpered as his balls pulled up tight to his body. Excellent. As he tensed for the final release, Cries and whimpers and moans as he came all over his legs and his bed mat.
He was still shaking when I pulled out and walked over to hand him a warm washcloth to clean his mess.
I walked out and made sure to turn off the cameras, the little fucker had 4 thousand loyal customers. He was bringing in a steady two thousand dollars a week income. Not counting special requests and of course the escort service he provided, sure it was more like pay for play, but the important thing was he was now bringing in a steady income. Now he could pay for University, clothing, and Car all on his own with money left over that the family used.
Bill's wife had always been a little too blonde for her own good, all she knew was that her eldest son was now on the right track. And for her side of the family, Dale would eventually be the first university graduate in generations. She had, Ethan who was on track to replace Dale and then a proper, and prim daughter Emila sharp as a blade, she was most like Bill, she was his pride and joy.
Bill's kid always did put on a great show, I would have loved to ride Dale but rules are rules we can only fuck our own.
Currently Bill wanted me to train Dale to be in a doggy style position, with and then without a tail shaped plug. He wanted him trained to stay in this position for hours, to build up his stamina as Bill had a party of Furries that wanted to rent the boy out after a big comic con in the city. A gangbang, it would be Dales first and we were making sure the boy was ready to serve. Workouts, Diet and reinforcing his attitude was already planned.
But we were in no rush. We had months to prepare the kid.
The video clips hit my phone at 6 AM.
Even through the grainy pixelated video and my half sleepy cloudy sight, Nate’s transformation was undeniable. The harness wasn’t just restraint, it was a second skin, each strap a dark contrast against his sculpted frame. The chest piece framed his pecs like a trophy case, the shoulder straps cutting hard lines down to where leather met sweat-slick muscle.
Dale’s whip had left its mark, angry red stripes across his back, but pain couldn’t overshadow the artistry of control. The O-ring held him taut, every shift of his hips making the understrap dig deeper. His expression? Pure conflict, jaw clenched against a moan, eyes glazed with something between defiance and surrender.
I zoomed in. The thin strap between his legs pulled everything into sharp relief, the swell of his cock, the weight of his balls, the way his ass flexed when he moved.
Marketable. That was the word that came to mind.
None of this had to happen.
One straightened-out attitude. One ounce of self-control. That's all it would've taken to keep the Family name clean.
But the kid had to push. Had to steal, lie, fuck his way through every second chance we carved out for him. Now? Now his choices had consequences. Real ones. The kind that left marks deeper than belt leather.
Bill's hand clamped down on Nate's shoulder, steadying him. No going back now. The wild-eyed brat who'd rolled into town was gone. What emerged from this shed wouldn't be my son, not the way Jeannie remembered him.
I watched excitedly as Bill placed a leash on Nate and walked him around like the floor of the shack, no resistance, no defiance.
Excellent, his training was going to pay off big time!
I texted Bill, ….Keep him for the week.
Bill, …. He should be ready for phase 2 by then.
I turned off my phone and went back to bed, I knew Bill would not let me down.
