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Archive-name: Slaves/brent.txt

Archive-author: Brent Capps

Archive-title: Adventures of Boy Brent

A pleasant vibration at his groin instantly snapped boy brent's thoughts

back from the Friday morning engineering meeting.  He glanced down at

the silently humming skypager.

991.  Mr Benson again.

All thru this Boston business trip Mr. B had ensured that he would

never be far from boy brent's thoughts.  Mr. Benson certainly knew

how to put a Skypager to creative new uses:

   991 - smack your balls

   992 - smack them _REALLY_ hard

   993 - put on the butt plug

   994 - put on the tit clamps

   995 - jerk your cock, get close but don't you dare come

   996 - put a finger in your mouth and swirl your tongue around it

   997 - lick your lips, purr, and think of me

   998 - call me

   999 - [I'll never tell! -- bb]

Mr. Benson had certainly made active use of the codes.  He'd kept his

boy busy every couple of hours for the past three days, putting him

through the paces.  But now -- at last -- it was Friday.  The boy

hurriedly transacted the last of his business and was soon soaring

away from Boston toward his long-anticipated encounter with Mr. Benson.

The plane touched down early in Philadelphia, and the boy had time to

change into something more comfortable: leather boots, faded blue jeans,

chaps, vest, black t-shirt, jacket, cap.  Mr. Benson had never laid eyes

on the boy before this, and it wouldn't do for them to miss each other

in the busy airport.  The youngster then took his appointed place in front

of the metal detectors, waited, and took secret glee in the stares of

the bypassers.

Mr. B loomed before him suddenly without warning.  Smiling, he kissed his

boy hello as he fastened a collar around his neck.  Mr Benson then slapped

on a pair of beautiful black handcuffs, concealing them with a scarf.  They

then set out for the train to downtown, the boy skipping happily behind

his master and observing what a big, muscular, handsome man Mr. Benson was.

After leading him handcuffed for several blocks through downtown Philadelphia,

they arrived at Mr. Benson's comfortable home in the city's gay ghetto.

The boy was soon standing naked before his master, still handcuffed.

Mr. Benson explored his body, testing his responsiveness, probing for

sensitive areas.  There seemed to be no shortage of them as boy brent

growled, groaned, purred, and moaned whereever Mr. Benson's fingers played.

Satisfied with his initial explorations, Mr. Benson grasped his boy's nuts,

gave them a hard yank, and clapped on a ball stretcher.  They then kissed

for a long time until Mr. Benson ordered boy brent to dress for dinner,

omitting the underwear.

Strolling down the street after their meal, they turned into Afterwords,

a bookstore/card shop in Philadelphia's gay ghetto.  There were quite a few

people in the store tonight, and as he browsed through cards Mr. Benson

ordered his boy to kneel at his feet and clean his boots.  The boy gave

them the loving tonguebath they deserved, craving as he did the murmurs of

envy from the other patrons.  Mr. B then bent down, opened the fly on brent's

501s to partially expose his excited boymeat, and publicly explored him.

boy brent's cheeks burned hot with humiliation as Mr. Benson paraded him

slowly around the shop, his crotch opened for all to behold.  Mr. Benson

then ran into one of his friends who openly admired his handiwork.  boy brent

had never felt so proud to be so humiliated.

After a brief visit to the Bike Stop and another yummy bootlicking, they

headed home.  Upon arriving, master ordered the boy to strip, blindfolded

him and ordered him to lie on the mattress on the floor.

A stretching sound and the feel of plastic wrapping around his chest told

boy brent he was about to be treated to his first mummification scene.

"Remember to breathe," he heard his master advise, and brent inhaled and

held his breath as the saran wrap wound around and around his chest, binding

his arms to his sides, before Mr. Benson sealed it tight with a outer

covering of duct tape.  He then repeated the procedure on the boy's legs.

Mr. Benson left the boy's side, and brent heard a rustling sound.  A bag

of somethings was being emptied onto his chest, bouncing off the plastic

and clattering across the mattress.  Clothespins!  One by one Mr. Benson

attached them to the boy's tender young scrotum, too many to count, then

all the way up his engorged boymeat right up to the glans.  At first it

was painful, then intense, until the boy broke free at last through that

shimmering glowing doorway he'd only seen just briefly before.  It was

heavenly; the boy's mind was flying high, floating on a cloud of endorphins.

Dreamily, he was aware that in some other reality Mr. Benson was fiddling

with something;  .  But the boy's mind couldn't be weighed

down with such mundane things, and drifted off again.

Too soon, it seemed, the clothespins began to come off, the last ones applied

coming off first so that each successive pin removed was more painful than

the last.  brent was soaring higher and higher into the stratosphere with

each one.  Finally after the last one was removed he gently glided back down

to earth.  He felt his master kiss him deeply for a long time, before moving

away a little.  "Kiss me," he ordered.  When the boy could not comply 

came Mr. Benson's hand hard against his balls.  The boy strained against the

bonds of the plastic until his lips met Mr. Benson's.  Then he again moved

a little farther away.  "KISS ME BOY!"    Too far to reach! "KISS ME!!"

 Mr. Benson gave an evil chuckle.


Then a new sound.  Metal against metal -- the sound of a knife being

sharpened.  The boy felt the keen edge of the blade gently caress edge of

his chest, travelling slowly down his stomach, down to his testicles.

He could feel the edge press against his scrotum, then the weight of a

 being placed on his legs and set flush against his perenium.

More knife sharpening sounds.  The boy went wild with excitement and fear,

desperately struggling against the encasing saran wrap that held him fast.

A bead of sweat appeared on his forehead against the blindfold.  He squirmed

for dear life now, but couldn't even manage to roll over.  He heard

Mr. Benson cackle at his pathetic efforts to escape, then felt his hot breath

against his ear.  "I'm gonna take 'em, boy, just like I warned you I would.

Your nuts are gonna be mine."

Something in the boy broke and the calmness of acceptance came over him.

"Take them, sir.  I trust you to know what's best."  He felt his master's

hand tenderly brush his cheek, his master's lips press up against his own,

his master's hand stroking him now, causing the cum to begin to rise in

his doomed balls, before they finally betrayed their owner and pumped

wad after wad of cum high into the air.  The slaveboy screamed and

groaned in defeat, ecstasy and terror, knowing that the moment of truth had

arrived for him at last.  He braced himself for the knife.

The knife whacked down against the cutting board and agonizing pain

exploded in his nuts.  He'd been slapped very very hard.  The boy

sighed in pain, pleasure and relief, even as his master moaned

and sprayed hot semen all over his blindfolded face.  They kissed

for a very long time, and rested peacefully.  Finally his master sliced

him loose from the saran wrap, each cut releasing more of his constricted

flesh, until his chest was unbound and the boy gulped sweet fresh air into

his starved lungs.

Weak, tired and defenseless, the boy curled up against his master in bed,

felt his warmth, ran his little hand through the beautiful carpet of auburn

hair covering his master's chest and back.  They kissed sweetly and the boy

cradled his head against Mr. Benson's chest.  What a magnificent man.

 * * *

boy brent awoke the next morning and immediately cuddled in Mr. Benson's

protective arms.  He ran his hand up and down his master's body and curled

his fingers luxuriantly through his chest and back hair.  Mr. Benson leaned

over and gently kissed him.  Good morning!  The boy was instantly hard and

ready to go at it again.  They made love in the early light of morning.

Later, after cleaning up, the boy dressed as instructed and accompanied his

master to breakfast, followed by a trip to the Reading Terminal public market.

All along the way Mr. B. kept running into his many friends and acquaintences,

and to each one he introduced the boy in the collar.  boy brent began to

feel his master was friends with so many people he could be elected mayor.

The boy read the envy registering on their faces and felt very proud; they

would have traded places with him in a second, but Mr. Benson had placed

the collar on *him*.  The boy reached up, stroked it and smiled dreamily.

Returning home from the shopping trip, Mr. Benson immediately ordered the

boy to strip, blindfolded him, and tied him securely to the floor of the

apartment.  After a little while the door buzzer sounded.  "Well, boy, it

looks like we've got some company.  Heh heh heh."  boy brent heard footsteps

and the sound of the door opening, hushed conversation at the door, then

felt four sets of hands caressing his body.  Mr Benson's voice: "Make him

feel good.  He likes his balls hit."  brent tensed as the first blows

pummeled his exposed boynuts, each sending electric bolts of pain shooting up

his spine.  The boy was stimulated seemingly everywhere at once -- kissed,

punched, prodded, whipped, licked, caressed, fingered, slapped.  He felt the

other bottom cover the top of him in a protective position, absorbing the

brunt of the punishment Mr. Benson doled out with his whip.  The boy brushed

the other bottom tenderly with his cheek, wishing he could absorb the pain

for his friend.  The mystery bottom then sat up on the boy's chest, placed

his cock in the boy's mouth, and Mr. Benson began to whip the other bottom's

ass and the boy's nipples in a figure 8 pattern.  Mr. B then grasped the boy's

cock and coaxed his cum out in thick gobs, followed shortly by the other

bottom shooting all over boy brent's face and hair, followed in rapid

succession by Mr. Benson blasting his own semen all over both of them.

boy brent never saw mystery bottom's face, learned his name, or even heard

the sound of his voice.  But the memory of what they shared would never be


The boy fell into a deep slumber.

 * * *

He awoke to a toothsome smell -- it was almost time for dinner.  Mr. Benson

told him to expect guests for dinner, Jim and John.  boy brent paused and

thought those names sounded very familiar, until he remembered the scene

Mr. Benson had posted earlier to the gl-asb list at a meeting of the PBC.

Jim and John turned out to be quite intellegent, charming, and extremely

hot men.  The evening passed quickly, the guests showering Mr. Benson

with compliments on the delicious vegetarian dinner he'd prepared, before

time for the dessert rolled around and the boy was ordered to disrobe for

the guests.  Jim and John took turns torturing his tits as they shed

their clothes; both of them turned out to have truly enormous endowments.

Jim, John and Mr. Benson then went to work on boy brent for a while,

playing with his tits, slapping his nuts, and using him as a convenient hole.

The lovers then slowly fucked as the boy cuddled against his master and

watched the show.  They built to a frenzied climax assisted by the boy

and his master.

Afterwards, Mr. Benson was feeling in an expansive and generous mood and

asked his boy if there was any scene he particularly wanted to do.

The boy's face beamed in response.  Oh yes, sir, there was.  Hot wax.

 * * *

As Jim and John pinned the blindfolded boy down, Mr Benson dripped hot

wax over his chest, nipples, underarms, stomach, cock, balls and ass.

brent began once more to moan and growl and purr as little bits of fire

needled his body.  The growls gradually faded into giggles becoming howls

of laughter as the endorphins kicked in, making the hot little droplets

of wax tickle intensely.  boy brent was soon uncontrollably gasping and

quaking in laughter with tears coursing down his cheeks, causing Mr. Benson

and his friends to begin to laugh in delight as they pinned him down.

Jim and John asked Mr. Benson if he would consider loaning out his boy

to his friends sometime.  It was a bouyant end to a wonderful evening.

Jim and John took their leave of Mr. Benson, leaving behind one exhausted

but very happy slave boy.

 * * *

Sunday morning shortly before boy brent was to depart for the return trip

to Portland, Mr. Benson shared with him what the clicking sound had been.

The Polaroids revealed the clothespins arranged in a beautiful fanned

pattern.  Such an consummate artist!


boy brent

Feburary 25, 1993

Portland, OR

dedicated to the one and only Mr. Benson, with many thanks

for the wildest and most wonderful ride of my life


>Subject: The continuing adventures of boy brent

>Date: Fri, 9 Apr 1993 04:13:38 GMT

Mr. Benson stood leaning against the open foyer door as

boy brent emerged from the gathering dusk.  The collared boy

broke out in a broad grin as he dropped his bags and threw

his arms about his host's neck.  They kissed in the open doorway

before Mr. Benson hoisted his boy's bags and ushered him

inside.  The door closed behind them with a soft click.

Play would come later.  Now it was time to reunite and rediscover.

 * * *

boy brent stirred in his sleep.  Dim objects in the room gave off a

soft pale glow, illuminated by the moonlight shimmering through the

bedroom window.  The boy heard Mr. Benson's quiet steady breathing

as he slumbered beside him, felt his reassuring body heat warming

his skin.  The slaveboy rolled over on his side to gently spoon him

as much as the ropes would allow.

 * * *

The slaveboy walked down the streets of Philadelphia, basking in the bright

warm sunshine.  He carried before him a large pile of laundry, the first

of his assigned chores on this Friday morning.  Mr. Benson had been generous

today; after the laundry and the dishes he'd given his boy leave to enjoy

the rest of the day off.  boy brent whistled happily as he continued on

his way to the laundrymat, sensuously rubbing his neck against the shiny

black leather of his slave's collar.

 * * *

Mr. Benson returned home from work shortly after 5 PM that evening.

He reminded the boy there would be other guests that weekend, and that as

part of his duties he would be expected to provide sexual entertainment for

the guests whenever and in whatever form Mr. Benson wished.  After dressing,

Mr. Benson handcuffed and leashed his slaveboy and led him to the Bike Stop

for the preliminaries were being held for the Ms. and Mr. Philadelphia

Leather contests.  While waiting for the contestants to be introduced,

Mr. Benson showed off his puppy's obedience training to the patrons of the

bar, ordering him to kneel, bark, and lick the boots of several dominant

women of Female Trouble, including Father Amelia's (who received a

particulary affectionate and lavish boot cleaning!)  In return the women

of the Philly leather community welcomed him warmly, evidently having a soft

spot in their hearts for puppies wandering far from home.

While this was taking place Mr. Benson had rounded up his other weekend

guests, JF and Stephen, two very hot men.

 * * *

Midnight.  Four tired leathermen slouch in an all-night diner, fried eggs

staring up at them like jaundiced eyes as O Solo Mio buzzes from a tinny

tableside speaker.

 * * *

Heading home, they reached the JF's rental car.  After throwing JF's

bags into the trunk, Mr. Benson told boy brent to hop in; he climbed into

the trunk with the rest of the baggage.  The trunk shut with a whump, the

car started up, and inside the trunk the little light went out as the last

passenger door shut.

The boy could feel the car begin to drive away.  Inside the trunk it was

pitch dark, stuffy and extremely confining with the luggage taking up

most of the room.

It was kind of like being buried alive.  Suddenly the air seemed to

disappear.  He labored for breath.  He had forgotten something,

something important.

He was claustrophobic.

At that instant the car came to a stop.  The boy began to pound on the trunk.

The lid of his coffin opened and the boy rolled out of his grave, heaving

and gasping for air.  After a moment he regained his senses enough

to recognize Mr. Benson's concerned face hovering over him; the car had

stopped at the gate of the garage, and were right now they being stared at

by the parking attendant, his mouth a capital O of astonishment.

 * * *

Home again.  His wrists and ankles bound, the boy knelt before JF.

"You are never to touch your dick without my permission.  If I do

catch you touching yourself, you're going to find out what true

pain is.  Not enjoyable pain, but punishment pain.  The kind that

will make you wish you'd never been born."

The boy gave his assent.

The entertainment began.

 * * *

The boy stiffly stretched on the hard floor, his wrists still padlocked

together from the night before, his ankles still chained to the eyebolt

set into the floor, his eyes still blindfolded.  He gathered it was

morning from the stirring and shuffling he heard around him; Mr. Benson was

leaving to go running.  No sooner was the boy's blindfold removed and his

ankles unshackled than his face was thrust onto someone's cock; .  It was

a beautiful cock, perfectly formed.  The boy began to worship it with his

mouth when he suddenly felt Stephen's hands on the back of his head, pushing

him down, the cock pressing insistantly onto to the back of his throat,

gagging him.  He was choking now, tears streaming out his eyes and snot

cascading down his nose, but still the hand refused to relent or take pity.

His balls were being crushed in someone's vicelike grip.  The boy tried to

make the best of it, tried to practice his art, but the rough hands would

permit no subtlety now; he was just a convenient hole.  All he could do

was endure.

A reminder that enjoyment is a luxury for a slaveboy.

 * * *

The contest title JF held carried with it certain obligations which

required his ongoing presence this weekend.  After a light breakfast

at the Reading Terminal, he parted company with the others, who spent the

rest of the afternoon shopping and browsing.  The boy's burden of packages

growing heavier as the day wore on.

Finally they arrived home again.  Mr. Benson pulled out a leather

straightjacket, confined and blindfolded Stephen; he then gave his

boy permission to play with Stephen's cock.  Mr. Benson then went off

to prepare dinner.

boy brent got an evil smile.  He began to give Stephen head, the way

it ought to be done.  Slowly.  Lovingly.  With exquisite attention to

detail and with no hurry at all.  boy brent was using all his cocksucking

skills to make Stephen groan with pleasure and need.

The boy's tongue then licked down the shaft onto the balls and over the

thighs, to a spot just above the thighs, below and to the side of the

stomach -- one of the most ticklish spots on the body.  boy brent now

began to work his pleasant revenge on this spot.  Stephen's groans of

pleasure became giggles, then laughter, then hysterical gasps of pain

as the boy continued to relentlessly lick and lick and lick on this most

sensitive spot.

Stephen was squirming desparately in the straightjacket, helpless

to escape from the slaveboy's seeking tongue causing his abdomenal

muscles to spasm and twitch and buck and cramp.  Just as it seemed

he could stand no more, the boy returned to his cock again,

worshiping this beautifully formed phallus as Stephen's chest heaved

and drank in sweet oxygen.  This was the way the boy preferred to

work his art.  Soon Stephen was moaning with pleasure again.

boy brent continued in this way, alternating between tonguepleasure

and tonguetorture, for a couple of hours.  Finally it was time to

release Stephen.  Mr. Benson sent him out to the store to retrieve

some butter.  He came back with several items, but no butter, stammering

that there was this cute boy in the dairy aisle, and he forgot...

Over the next 24 hours Stephen would be made to pay for that oversight

again and again.

 * * *

The evening passed uneventfully.  The three had arrived too late to

see the Ms. Philadelphia Leather contest, and the rest of the evening

was a routine night at the bars.

They reunited with JF, and at midnight returned home.  Carrying out

Mr. Benson's orders, boy brent went to the bedroom and stripped.

Mr. Benson produced the black leather straightjacket -- the same one

Stephen had been wearing -- and fastened it on the boy, then blindfolded

him and laid him out on the bed.

The boy lay breathing quietly.  No upper body movement was possible and

the jacket was very heavy.  In the darkness boy brent overheard JF

giving instruction to Stephen in the next room:

"You are never to touch your dick without my permission.  If I do

catch you touching yourself, you're going to find out what true

pain is.  Not enjoyable pain, but punishment pain.  The kind that

will make you wish you'd never been born."

The boy smiled to himself and drifted off to sleep.

 * * *

boy brent awoke with a start.

The apartment was quiet now.  The jacket was oppressively hot and stuffy.

Breathing was an effort.  He still couldn't move.  His throat was parched

and he longed for a drink of water.

He had no idea what time it was or how much longer he'd been in this jacket.

He could hear Mr. Benson slumbering beside him.  All he had to do was

reach out with his foot and tap him awake and he could be free...

His breaths were more difficult now, each requiring a conscious effort.

He was having another claustrophobia attack and he was beginning to panic.

Gradually the boy faded into unconsciousness again.

 * * *

He awoke again, drenched with sweat.  His mouth was dry and

his breaths were coming in heaving gulps.  It was time to end this.

He reached out and tapped Mr. Benson.  He heard the topman stir and

ask what he needed.  "Water please Sir."  Mr. Benson squirted a stream

of water into the boy's parched mouth from a squeeze bottle, then

on the boy's request he unfastened the straps and released him.

He sat up and stretched his arms, which felt wonderfully alive and

tingly.  The sudden rush of cool air felt wonderful against his damp

hot skin.

It was 5 AM.  He had made it thru the night.  Mr. Benson kissed him on

the forehead.  "I'm proud of you boy."  They were still spooning as the

boy drifted off to sleep again.

 * * *

By the time the boy awoke preparations were already underway for the

brunch.  Mr. Benson had already been up for hours making a cake for

his guests.  Stephen had been ordered to write the shopping list of

last minute items onto an Etcha-Sketch and take it to the store with

him lest he forget again.  He was mercilessly teased with butter jokes

all morning.

The brunch guests -- Mr. Benson's handsome friends Jim and John, and

SH -- a hot young man -- began arriving at 11.  After demolishing the

delicious brunch, it was time for the piercing scene.

boy brent was tied down nude, spreadeagled, blindfolded as JF got out

his needles and got to work.  Before JF pierced the hafadas, boy brent

said a few words.

"My nipple piercings were for my journey.  i now dedicate this new piercing

to the vessel of my journey, my body.  i'm not going to listen to anyone

trying to convince me that it's dirty or that i should be afraid of my

body ever again."

boy brent took three deep breaths and JF thrust the needle in.  There

was a sudden sharp pain, then it was over; in total it lasted perhaps

half a second.  The ring was fitted and that piercing was done.

The boy was flying at this point, his body swaying gently to the Indian

music Mr. Benson had chosen for this scene.  The same process was repeated

for the second hafada and the two frenums.  By the last piercing the

boy gasped in pain; the needle was worn out.

It was over.  His bonds were unfastened and he shakily got to his feet,

his blindfold was removed and they admired his new rings and barbells.

JF had done a very nice job.  The boy's erection swelled proudly to

show off its new adornment.

boy brent then got on his knees and thanked Mr. Benson's guests properly.

 * * *

It was time to go.  boy brent and Mr. Benson embraced outside the entrance

of the Bike Stop.

"Am i still your boy?"

"You're my boy."

They parted and the boy walked away in the drizzle.  Halfway down the

alley he turned and looked back over his shoulder.

Mr. Benson was gone.


>Subject: The continuing adventures of boy brent.

>Date: Sun, 16 May 1993 19:19:37 GMT

Tuesday night.

Kneeling before him, boy brent gently hefted Barry's testicles

in the palm of one hand as he examined the underside of his

erect penis, searching for the proper placement.  Satisfied,

he marked the entry and exit points with a fine-point pen,

carefully cleaning any stray marks with alcohol applied with

a Kleenex folded into a point.  He measured the width of the

dots to be sure the barbell would fit.

The boy's heart raced as he donned latex gloves, swabbed Barry's

skin with Betadine, carefully applied the forceps, then picked up

the hollow needle and cork.  His hands were steady, which was good:

marksmanship is crucial in piercing.

The room grew quiet.  Dan stood by the boy, holding the forceps,

as boy brent's entire being now focused on a tiny black dot just

below the underside of Barry's glans.  He positioned the needle

in his right hand, holding it with a bit of paper towel, with the

cork at the ready in his right.

"Barry, take a deep breath."  Both of them breathed in tandem.

"Let it out.  Another one.  Another one..."

The blood was roaring in his ears as the slaveboy drove the hollow

needle thru with a quick, firm push.  He felt the resistance of the

cork as Barry let out a little yelp, as much in surprise as in pain.

In his excitement the boy had thrust the needle in a little too hard

and firmly embedded it into the cork; it took a few seconds to get it


Everyone plateaued for a moment, relaxing a bit off the intensity of the

moment.  The jewelry inserted, they all gathered round to admire Barry's

new frenum.

The boy's spirit soared and danced.

* * *

Saturday night.

The boy leaned against the rail of the PDX Eagle, his collar tethered

to a post by the leash.  His back bared, he braced himself and prepared

to receive the first blow.

Whap whap whap, Barry started out the flogging by working on his

shoulderblades, crisscrossing in a figure-8 pattern as the boy settled

into the whipping.  All eyes in the packed bar were on them; this was

an unusual event for this leather bar, where S&M usually meant stand

and model.

A quarter hour passed.  The strikes were growing more intense, successively

alternating between a soft caresses and hard heavy thuds.  The flat whaps

of the heavy blows could be heard all over the bar, punctuated by

occasional groans as the slaveboy gritted his teeth and endured the

pain.  Barry was getting pretty good at this.

They were now a half hour into the session.  Barry had backed off to

more moderate strokes now, pausing occasionally to caress and lick his

boy bottom's back.  boy brent began to gyrate and writhe to the strokes

as the endorphins pumped and surged thru his system.  So this was was

what hog heaven was like, he thought to himself.

45 minutes into the flogging, it was getting intense.  The blows were

raining down heavy now, without respite: WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!  The boy was

trying to mumble his mantra to himself between screams.  He began to move

his back from side to side to try to ward off the licks from his most

raw and tender spots, to no avail.  Approaching his limit, he began to sink

to his knees.

The blows stopped.

The backslaps started.

The flats of Barry's palms went pat pat pat over brent's tender heated

skin, increasing quickly in intensity to a pounding almost hard enough to

knock the breath out of him.  The boy gripped the post with his remaining

strength now and just held on.  Still the slaps continued -- the boy

screaming and mumbling his mantra -- until his knees gave way at last

and he collapsed to the floor, his neck still tethered to the post.

Unseen hands helped him up and gave him a drink.  The pain removed, his

mind quickly cleared.  He had forgotten he was in a bar, and the flogging

had drawn quite a crowd of onlookers -- some faces wore incredulous

expressions, others hungry ones.

The boy smiled as he studied the hungry faces and committed them to memory.


boy brent      (B4) htw-[csegk]++    | (gay stuff)    |  May all your sins be original. (telecom stuff) |

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