Greengrocer's Son

Title: Greengrocer's Son
Author: Master Redbeard
Link: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/SlaveNow/conversations/messages/2814

The boy in the second cage is one I know very well. He is the son of the greengrocer who sells me my fresh produce. This very enterprising young father goes around to all the farms very early in the morning and buys what he can and then sells to customers in his store right in the center of town. 

I've been buying from their shop for as long as I can remember. Well, I don't do the grocery shopping for the estate. But it's the sort of fresh fruit and vegetable place where I might stop by and pick out some peaches or melons as a special treat. Everything they sell was picked within the previous day so it's the freshest you can get. My father used to say, "the freshest is the sweetest." He used to buy from the same shop when a different family owned the place – and he'd take me along with him and let me pick out what I wanted. My father believed in the health benefits of fresh fruit and vegetables.

This particular family has owned the shop for quite a long time as it is. If I remember correctly they purchased it with the money from their wedding gifts. That's right! And when they first set up shop, the wife was pregnant with their first child. They're a lovely family. From their last name I think they're either Scandinavian or Dutch heritage – very lemon blond hair on the father, the mother, and the kids.

They have four children. Well, they actually now have three children since Tyler has been enslaved. Tyler was their oldest son – such exquisite, delicate features, and yet all-boy, rugged, on his way to becoming quite manly. I know I'm talking in contradictions, but that's how I see the lad. I've watched Tyler grow up. He was such a playful little devil when he was small. Who could have imagined that someday I'd have him naked in a cage?

He really filled out over the years. He's been carrying heavy crates, loading and unloading. Plus getting all that fresh produce that most young people of his economic background never get. That's why his body has no fat on it. And I suppose I started noticing him not too long ago. I mean I had always noticed what a cute kid he was. But now I was noticing him in a different way. No longer as a kid, but as a budding young man with powerful arms and legs.

I don't mean to imply that Tyler is bulky or overdeveloped. His body is wiry. You look at his arms and you can see that they are well muscled, but they're wiry not bulked up. He's about 5'8" and 150 lbs. And when he was enslaved I didn't have to touch a razor anywhere to his chest or to his butt or his crack. But I'm getting ahead of myself here.

Tyler reached an age where his father would let him go out driving their cart in the mornings. It's one of those old machines that use gasoline. Sure gasoline is expensive, but a business like that couldn't afford to have a pony slave. And after all, he was only traveling in a five-mile radius – still they could go through a gallon of gas every two or three weeks. I would see the boy drive by the road in front of my estate. On warm days he'd have his shirt off. And, to tell the truth, I started to have lecherous thoughts about young Tyler.

I found myself stopping into the store when I knew he would be there. I would ask Tyler to get something for me off a high shelf, so I could watch his muscles stretch, his t-shirt ride up and show the smooth flesh of his lower back and the waistband of his underpants. But if the boy was wearing this pair of white jeans that were quite faded and a bit too tight on him, I would always ask him to bend over and search for something under the counters. The sight of his perfectly rounded young globes stretching against that thin denim managed to get me totally erect on more than one occasion.

One day after a particularly choice viewing of Tyler stretching this way and that in his white jeans, I found myself fucking a slave boy with my eyes closed and pretending it was Tyler's ass I was avishing. I knew then that I just had to look into the possibility of getting the lad enslaved. I knew that I'd forever kick myself if I didn't at least give it my best shot.

It wasn't difficult for me to acquire the building this family was renting for their store and their home. They lived in a small flat above the store. Oh, of course I made the purchase through a holding company, so my name was never involved with it. I then managed to call in some favors from the land assessment people. They couldn't understand why I would want them to raise the assessed value. I had my reasons.

Once the property was re-valued, I had justification to raise the rent exorbitantly on that family and yet hold them to their lease. I made sure there was no way they could move the store – nobody else in town with appropriate property would make it available to them. And I invoked a clause in their lease that required them to stay and pay the rent no matter how much it may be raised.

I let the family stew in their dilemma for a few weeks. Of course I kept tabs of each time the father went to the bank for a meeting, just what he asked, and just what he was told. That meant that I wasn't the first one to raise the prospect of enslaving one of their children. That was for the best because, as I understand it, the man was livid the first time the enslavement option was mentioned.

When I felt they'd been dangling long enough, I stopped by the store to do some shopping but I asked the father to come out to my carriage to talk to me where his family couldn't hear. Once I had him in private I told him that since I was on the board of the bank, I had heard some talk about a problem he was having and I wanted to know what it was. I joined in with him in cursing his "infernal landlord" (even though that "money-grubbing bastard" was me).

So I came into the conversation as a faithful customer and concerned citizen. I asked him a lot of questions even though I knew the answers to all of them. Then I very cautiously brought up the option of enslavement. I couched it in the most delicate terms. "I know this would be very difficult for you. I know what a lovely family you have and how devoted you are to your children, but…." 

He was almost in tears talking about that subject. But he didn't reject it out of hand. I knew then I had him. I asked him which of his children was the best scholar (although I already knew the answer to that question). Tyler was the most handsome and the best athlete but it was the boy one year younger than Tyler who was the exceptional student at school. Tyler's younger brother also had a personality that would fit into the business world. It was apparent to me. It was also apparent to the father.

Again, I emphasized how difficult this must be for him. But I asked him: What kind of career would Tyler have in his future? The man talked wistfully about a time in the future when Tyler and his someday-to-be wife would take over the operations of the fruit and vegetable shop. 

Then I made him look me in the eyes and asked him to be sensible: How many years until he and his wife would be able to retire? How many years would that overlap with Tyler having a wife and children he would need to support? Was there any way the shop could support two households? The man saw my point. Tyler would be competing for those few lower-level jobs that aren't already held by slaves. That would make him a prime target for either criminal or financial enslavement at some 

point before he turned 24.

The greengrocer actually started weeping then. I expressed my commiseration. I didn't want to be too insistent about the enslavement issue. I told him I would consider if there was something I could do to help and he had to consider his options as well.

I waited almost two weeks to return. He was eager to join me in my carriage to talk where his family couldn't hear him. I offered him some good news. I told him that my lawyers had talked with the people from the landlord's company (meaning my lawyers had talked to themselves) and there was a possibility the greengrocer might be able to buy the building. 

He was thrilled. He never imagined he could be a property owner. I showed him how he might end up paying less for a monthly mortgage than he was paying in rent. But of course that would mean he would have to come up with the money for a down payment. There was only one way he could get that large sum of money, of course. He would have to enslave his eldest son, Tyler. I was trying to act businesslike and sober, but inside I was jumping for joy.

That's when I dropped my final bombshell. I told the father that I needed another personal slave in my household and that I would be interested in buying Tyler. I offered him a very good price. I even told him to go online and check prices for comparable boys and he would see that I was not trying to lowball him.

The man got a strange faraway look on his face once I said I would purchase Tyler myself. He was searching for words and I didn't know what he was going to say. But then he started thanking me. "It would be a comfort to know that Tyler won't be pawed over at some auction and end up in god-only-knows what kind of place." The man was practically kissing my hand. I was going to buy his son as a slave and he was acting like I'd done him the greatest favor in the world. (Well, perhaps it will turn out that I did him and his family a great favor.)

We resolved that he would bring Tyler over to my estate the next afternoon. I had my lawyers draw up all the papers and I had a slave cop there, as that's standard for any official enslavement. The father and son were right on time. Tyler was wearing those wonderfully tight white jeans, white sneakers and a white t-shirt that was too loose for my tastes. All in white – so appropriate for my little angel.

The slave-to-be was clearly nervous as he was ushered into my study. When he saw the slave cop he must have figured what was about to happen. His father had one hand on the boy's shoulders and the two of them were facing me as the slave cop read off the paperwork that declared Tyler's citizenship revoked and entered him into lifetime servitude.

Of course his first response was to turn to his father with, "But Dad, how could you?" Well the father had clearly prepared what he was going to say. He explained the situation of not being able to pay the rent versus being able to buy the building. He went on to explain that Tyler's younger brother would have the money to go to the best business school in the nation.

Tyler really is a good kid. You could see he was scared and you could see he was holding back tears, but he nodded and started taking off his clothes like his father had told him to do. Typical for a boy his age he stopped and asked if he really had to take down his briefs. When those briefs hit the floor – oh my, he really was just as delicious and just as all-boy cuteness as I knew he would be.

The slave cop put the collar onto the boy and attached the wrist cuffs to the D-rings on back of the collar, and then he stepped back. I stepped forward to begin my examination and suggested it was time the boy's father should leave, but the greengrocer asked to speak to me privately for just one minute. I was annoyed because by that time my cock was uncomfortably rigid in my pants and I wanted to get on with my fun. 

The man saw my impatience and blurted out that he was more worldly than I realized. He said he'd had a great uncle when he was young who had been a slave trader and he knew what gentlemen slave owners did with a boy like Tyler. All this time he looked down at the floor like it embarrassed him to say this. But then he looked me in the eyes and said, "I've seen the way you look at Tyler; the way you look at him from behind especially. I know what you'll be doing with him. He's legal age as of a month ago. He's your property. It's your right to use him as you please. Let me stay and I'll help the boy through it, and I'll also make it better for you."

Have you heard the phrase, you could have knocked me over with a feather? Because that's how I felt at that moment. I would be concerned that if a father of a new slave boy watched what went on he might become violent toward the boy's master. I can't imagine a situation in which one would want the father present for such a scene – unless of course there was a point to be made by humiliating the father and son.

But I simply nodded and told the man to stay. He positioned himself near the new slave and whispered to the boy explaining what was going to happen. I finally got my hands all over that smooth creamy flesh. Those muscles were so firm and yet supple that my fingers were tingling. 

I couldn't resist tasting the boy. I licked down his neck. When I bit lightly into one of his nipples, he cried out in pain. Before I could even say anything, the father admonished the lad, "You're going to have to learn to take a lot more pain than that, boy, as a slave." When the boy answered, "Yes, Dad," the man actually smacked the boy's rump pretty hard and snapped, "You'd better learn quick to call all free men sir or master."

Every logical brain cell tells me that having the boy's father there would subvert the training. But this man was determined to help mold his oldest son into a good slave. He told me later that he knew any other man would punish the boy much more severely for forgetting to use the word "Sir," so he felt he was doing his son a favor by smacking him.

I found it quite erotic stroking the boy to an erection with his own father standing beside us watching my every move. That's when I noticed that the greengrocer had quite a big hardon outlined in his pants, and there was even the start of a wet spot at the head. I offered the new slave's cock and asked if he would do the honors. What a lovely sight! The two definitely look like father and son. Watching the father masturbating his own son almost made me shoot off in my pants like some horny teen.

I dipped two fingers into the pool of cream in the boy shot into the older man's left palm; then the father dipped his own fingers and took a little taste. Then, without me even saying anything, he brought his palm up to the boy's lips and ordered the new slave to lick it up. That's when the boy balked and turned his head with a disgusted look on his face. His father sounded very angry when he rebuked his son for hesitating in following an order. Then the man looked to me. He knew I would have to administer some sort of punishment to reinforce the lesson in obedience.

As Tyler reluctantly licked up his own spunk I chose a short cat. As I've already said I never want to mark up the ass of a new slave boy. In the case of Tyler, the flawless skin on that perfectly shaped ass was the main reason for getting him enslaved. So I used the short cat to lash at the boy's tits. I left a few thin red lines across his chest, some cutting right through the nipples. I've been told it feels a bit like a paper cut. That must be a terribly sensitive spot for the sensation of a paper cut.

Would you believe the father then volunteered to give the boy his first shaving? Well, the man had already handled his son's hard penis, so what was there to be modest about. I think I told you already that shaving the boy hardly made a dent in the razor. His underarms required one swipe each and there was no shaving required on his chest or on his butt. Even his hole was perfectly hairless – just as I'd always dreamed it would be.

That father wasn't quite prepared to go all the way. He stepped back and watched with me as I had a bath slave give Tyler a series of enemas. We joked together and we both acknowledged each other's erections. But then when he saw that Tyler was weeping quite copiously the man went over to talk to his son. I was impressed that his tone of voice had changed. He was still being kind to Tyler. But he was no longer addressing him as his son, but as a slave boy.

"You're a very good-looking boy, Tyler. And the money to be made will be by selling you as a sex slave to an older man. You are lucky to have such a fine man as your master. You have to accept your role as a slave and be the best, most obedient slave you possibly can."

Now of course the boy's response was to sob, "B-but, sir, I'm not a… q-queer." 

The father was quite adamant and surprisingly eloquent. "When a free man uses a slave boy for sex that's not the same as what two queers do with each other, boy. A master exercises his power and control over a slave boy. He uses the slave boy for whatever purpose he sees fit. And a slave boy obeys. Caring for your master's erections will be just one of many jobs you'll learn to do boy. Pleasing your master is your highest purpose now, Tyler."

My bath slave was washing off Tyler's butt at that point when the greengrocer turned to me and said, "Use his mouth now."

Tyler gasped and his father pushed the boy to his knees. I approached cautiously, kneading the lump in the front of my pants. The man looked at me and said, "I know it's standard to use a mouth guard with a new slave boy. But Tyler won't try anything. He's a good boy."

Looking down at the slave, the man echoed, "You'll be a good boy, Tyler? Right?" The boy nodded and the man smacked his face to prompt an answer of "Yes, sir." Then the man said, "And what's your highest purpose, Tyler?"

"P-pleasing my master, sir?" the boy half-asked, his voice cracking.

I un-cuffed the slave boy's hands from the collar and brought his right hand to the fly of my pants. I then commanded, "Take it out." His hands were shaking as he unzipped me and freed my thick cock –it had already been erect for quite some time. There was a look of sheer terror on the boy's face. I'm sure that's the closest he'd been to a man's penis. "Stick out your tongue," I ordered.

Such a pretty pink tongue on such a pretty pink boy! I wiped my dripping cockhead on his tongue and he gagged and made noises like he was going to retch. I wasn't even inside his mouth yet. He was clearly reacting to the taste of my pre-cum and to the whole idea of an old guy's hairy cock against his tongue. I found that arousing. It was further proof of his youth and his heterosexuality – the two things that made using him so erotic for me.

It didn't take much effort to convince the greengrocer to strip down along with me –quite a fit manly hunk in his mid-30s. The slave boy masturbated his own father to produce the lube. Then the older man slathered his own spunk up his son's ass and on my penis. When I watched the father strapping his son down to the horse, I was afraid my cock would shoot off before I even had a chance to enter the boy.

You hear people talk about a dream come true? Well this was better than I had dreamed. While I was fucking that perfect ass – so silky smooth and firmly muscled – I was watching the slave's handsome dad fucking the boy's mouth. I indulged in a little fantasy then: What if this was back in the bad old days when there was no slavery? What if that greengrocer and I were buddies who were horny enough to strip his oldest son right in the produce store and bend the boy over for our fun? Or what if 

the man had been in financial straits to the extent that he gave me his son's free boy ass in exchange for money? With that thought, I shot off the most powerful load of cream deep inside that boy's elvety anus.

I simply collapsed across the lad's back. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't get my heartbeat back to normal. My hairy chest was glued to the boy's slender back with sweat. But two minutes later I insisted that the father have a turn at his son's sweet ass. Oh, that was something to see. As I said, they definitely look like father and son – the same lemon blond hair, the same rugged yet cute features. You should have heard that man howl when he shot his load into his own son's butt. I suspect neighbors in all contiguous counties must have heard that howl.

I've invited the man back. I have some scenes in mind I'd like to play out with the dad and son. I even told him to bring Tyler's younger brother along on the younger boy's next birthday. Even though he's a slave, there are some gifts Tyler can give that would be quite memorable for a teenage birthday boy. No, I have no intention of enslaving anyone else in that family. Besides, the other brothers are unfortunately rather plain.

But all that I was telling you about Tyler's enslavement just happened last weekend  just a few days ago. Like I said, I've had this embarrassment of riches in a very short period of time. That first frat boy I told you about came to me just two weeks ago, and I'm still in negotiations with a few top-line brothels. Now Tyler came into my possession just five days ago. And then the third cage got filled on Wednesday. As I told you at the start: I've made a point of never expanding beyond three cages in the 

hut because I never wanted my business to get big.

No, I can't simply bring Tyler up to my quarters. I insist that all newly-enslaved boys spend a certain amount of time in the hut. I have a very good trainer. His name is Straughn Davenport – he was named after his uncle who wrote all those books on slave training. Well, this Straughn is not the trainer his uncle was, but then again who is? 

It would be different if Tyler were being sold to someone else who had training facilities. But I've known too many bad situations where a new slave was coddled too much at the start, never learned proper decorum or discipline, and years down the road ended tragically – castrated or destroyed or sent prematurely to the organ bank – because of that gap in training. I always remind my clients: No matter how cute the boy is, no matter how much you may enjoy the sex, make sure the slave boy understands that he's a slave boy!

Since I plan on keeping Tyler myself, especially after the circumstances of his enslavement and given my (admittedly) emotional attachment to the boy, I feel it's important to keep him in the hut for at least another three or four weeks. That way he'll be used to discipline and formality, and when I do finally allow him up to my quarters, he will consider it a great honor and a treat.