The Neighbor's New Hogboy

By: Randall Austin
(© 2013-2014 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 1

Thomas Dayton rubbed his crotch as he viewed the photos he had collected online of his three high school buddies, Hunter Watson, Tagg Ashton, and Brady Logan.  Thomas was not into sports in the big way that his friends were.  And though they all called each other friends, Thomas was never certain why they wanted to hang out with him.

Thomas eventually came to the conclusion that they only hung out with him because they considered him to be ‘cool’ in the same way they considered themselves to be cool: hot looking, neat dressers, drove nice cars thanks to their dads’ generosity, and did everything in the right and cool

way.

But Thomas knew that he would not be considered cool by them if they ever found out he was gay.  But he didn’t care, he was in love with all three of them; and although he wasn’t really certain what it meant to be in love, he knew he was at least ‘in lust’ with them.

Just as Thomas was about to unzip his slacks in order to pull out his teen wanger, his mother, Laura Dayton, called up the stairs for him, “Tommy, your friends are here!”

Thomas was excited; it was the real thing!  He quickly closed the windows on his computer screen, erased his browser’s history, as he knew his dad checked his computer regularly, and dashed down the stairs.

When his three friends spotted him, they called out, “Hey bro!”  “Dude, you’re looking great!”  “Hot shirt, man!”

Mrs. Dayton wondered, “What’s going on today, boys?”

Hunter flashed a ‘cool boy’ winning smile, “We’re working together on our high school 4H3 project, and we just wanted to check in with Tommy to see if he’s okay with the project we’ve chosen.”

Tagg put his left hand on his hip as he ran his right hand through his hair, “We have to show some proficiency in the field of animal husbandry, so I got in touch with one of the farmers who was on our contact list.  He lives over in Eden Prairie, and he is real open into letting us work with him on his colt, Winston.”

Mr. Dayton looked up from his desk, “That sounds wonderful.  What kinds of things does ‘proficiency’ in animal husbandry entail?”

Brady answered, “We need to learn how some of the basics, things such as the care, handling, feeding, grooming, and breeding of livestock, are put into actual practice on a daily basis.”

Thomas nodded to his friends, “That sounds great to me.  If that’s the way you all want to go, then I’m in.

Just then 15-year old Michael Dayton came running into the living room calling for his older brother, Tommy, Tommy!  The Patterson’s new hogboy has arrived!”

Thomas wondered, “Where is he?”

“Mr. Patterson has him in that hole in his backyard, with a screen over the hole.  He’s crouching in that hole like some kind of animal.”

Mrs. Dayton was concerned, and addressed her husband, “Phil, do you really think the kids should be seeing that kind of stuff?”

Mr. Dayton didn’t stop from working on a piece of jewelry he was making at his work desk, “Let them.  Michael is 15 and Tommy is 18.  They have to face the real world sooner or later.”

Mrs. Dayton was still concerned, “But they shouldn’t be referring to a human being as a ‘hogboy’!”

Mr. Dayton nodded to deflect his wife’s concern, “Oh dear, Laura, nobody means any disrespect.  ‘Hogboy’ and ‘pigboy’ are simply shorthand terms those in the Social Services industry use to refer to the kind of servitors that Mr. Patterson works with; he buys prime level servitors, gets them beefed up, muscled out, and toned, and then, after about eighteen months, sells them for a hefty profit.”

Hunter laughed, “Yeah, like my dad says, ‘All that guys like Mr. Patterson are doing is getting the little piggies fattened up for market’.”

Tag and Brady laughed along with Hunter, while Thomas forced a smile to show that he was on the same page as his cool friends.

Mrs. Dayton shrugged, “I don’t know, the whole thing just doesn’t seem right to me.”

Mr. Dayton was sympathetic, “I understand your concern Laura.  But Minnesota has the most laws

of any state in the union protecting slaves and their rights.  That is why I just don’t think too much about it.”

“And consider, also, that what our neighbor, Mr. Patterson, does with servitors adds to their investment value.  Generally, the more one pays for a servitor, the more one is likely to make sure it is treated very well and remains in service for as long as possible.  What Mr. Patterson is really doing is helping to ensure that once someone purchases one of his servitors, they will be very well cared for!”

Thomas asked his friends, “Do you want to go with us to see Mr. Patterson’s new slave?”

Hunter answered, “Man, would we ever, but we are on break from football practice, and we have to get back there now.  We’ll see you tomorrow, bro!”

The three friends all bid polite farewells to Mr. and Mrs. Dayton, as Thomas and Michael exited the house along with Thomas’s three friends.

As the friends made their way to their car, and Michael and Thomas crossed the street on their way to Mr. Patterson’s house, Hunter called out, “Now be careful.  Don’t let that slave bite you.  I hear some of those slaves can be pretty ornery!”

When Michael and Thomas arrived in the Patterson’s back yard, their friend, Michael’s classmate, 16 year-old Waylan Patterson, was looking into the screened-over slave hole with his arms akimbo.

Michael and Thomas peered cautiously into the slave hole.  Michael asked, “Aren’t you afraid he’ll get out and attack you?”

Waylan shook his head, “No, not at all.  The screen cover is locked.  But dad wouldn’t buy a dangerous slave any more.  This hole is just left over from when he first started buying slaves and he had to purchase cheaper, and therefore more dangerous, models.  Now he buys quality slaves, just keeps them for about a year and a half, and then, once he gets them all muscled-up and buff, he sells them for a nifty profit.  To dad it’s kind of like raising cattle.”

Thomas asked of the crouching slave, naked except for a slave collar, work boots, and a pair of slave underpants, “How come his skin and undies are wet?”

Waylan smiled, “I just pissed on him!”

The Dayton boys laughed, and Waylan encouraged them, “Go ahead and try it!  It’s fun.  Watch him try and scurry out of your stream!”

Thomas shook his head, refusing the offer, and Michael offered regrets, “I don’t have to pee right now.”

Waylan, looking for something fun to do, saw that a branch had fallen off from a nearby oak tree.  He picked it up, removed the sprigs, and poked it through the grate covering the hole.

Michael asked what he was doing, “Come and watch.  I’m jabbing the slave.”  Michael and Thomas moved to the hole and saw the slave crouch into a ball as Waylan jabbed at parts of the slave’s backside and thighs.  “Look at this dumbass slave.”

Waylan called to the slave, “Hey slave, stand up so I can poke you in other places!”

The slave didn’t stand up but only squeezed himself into a tighter ball.  As the slave let out a whimper Mr. Patterson came out of the back door of his house and called to Waylan as he approached the boys, “What are you doing, Waylan?”

Waylan pulled the stick out of the hole and threw it on the ground, “Oh nothing Dad.  I was just trying to have some fun.  I remembered what you said, that I was not to break or abrade the slave’s skin, and I didn’t do that Dad.  I was just trying to rile him up a bit so Mikey and Tommy could get a good look at him.”

Mr. Patterson nodded, “That’s good son, because that’s a mighty valuable piece of property we’ve got down in that hole!”

Mr. Patterson acknowledged the Dayton boys, “Mikey, Tommy, how ya’ll doing?”

The boys answered that they were doing fine, as they backed away a bit from the slave hole.

As Mr. Patterson approached the hole, he asked the Dayton boys if they had had a chance to check out his new slave.  Tommy answered, “We just saw him now.”

Mr. Patterson beamed with pride, “He’s a beauty, isn’t he?”

Thomas, again, was the first to respond, “I’m afraid that I don’t know very much about judging slaves.  They all look alike to me.”

Mr. Patterson understood that the Dayton’s were not in a financial position to own slaves, “Well, if you care to stick around a bit as I get this one oriented I’m sure that you’ll be able to learn a good bit about slaves and slave handling.”

Mr. Patterson looked into the hole, “Are you boys enrolled in your school’s ‘Young Handler’s Club’?”

Michael answered, “Naw.  I doubt if we’ll ever own a slave.”

Mr. Patterson scratched at his left ear, “That’s not the point.  Getting a handler’s certificate is kind of like getting a driver’s license; you may not own a car, but it sure can come in handy.  You never know when you’ll need one to be able to drive and help out a friend, or in the event that you need to rent a car in an emergency.  It’s just a sensible thing to have.”

Mr. Patterson indicated his son, “Waylan already has a Junior Handler’s Permit.  And it has come in mighty handy, hasn’t it son?”

Waylan nodded, “It sure has, Dad!”

As Mr. Patterson was about to continue speaking, he coughed unexpectedly.  He calmly gathered his phlegm in a guttural effort to clear his throat, and casually spat into the slave hole with a loud gobbing force.  His thick, slimy, spit, hit Craig Winston (former young architect, now the slave in the hole) on his neck.

Mr. Patterson continued, “Anyway, the point is, you need to be properly equipped if you are to make it in today’s busy world.  You need three things: a good insurance policy; a driver’s license; and a permit to handle and control the indentured.”

The slave in the hole, Craig Winston, 27-years old, was just three weeks ago a Porsche driving hot shot architect who would regale his many friends with stories of the intricacies of building design and architecture.  As Craig listened to himself being talked about by his owners and the three young males, it was sinking into him now more fiercely than ever before that his opinions on anything probably wouldn’t matter very much to anyone.

As he crouched in his hole, Craig tried to keep from looking up, since he didn’t want to be hit in the face by falling dirt, or piss or spit.  He wondered what kind of people could do such things to another human being.  His thoughts were interrupted by his owner shouting at him, “Craig.  I called you!  What are you?  Asleep?”

Craig stirred and looked up, “Sorry, sir.”

Mr. Patterson continued speaking in the kind of harsh voice one would use on a violent convict, “Now I’m going to open up this screen, put a ladder in the hole, and I want you climb out of the hole.  And I don’t want any funny business, because if you try anything, I can assure you that you will regret it!”

Mr. Patterson unlocked the screen, slid it open, and dropped a six-foot plastic ladder into the hole.  Just as Craig stepped off the ladder and onto the neatly manicured lawn, Mr. Patterson instructed him, “Now gather your hands together behind your back and stand tall, and don’t give us any trouble.”

Craig wanted to reassure Mr. Patterson, “I assure you, sir, I am not a trouble maker.  I want to cooperate fully with…”

Before Craig could finish his statement he was knocked off balance by a severe slap to his right cheek by Mr. Patterson, who screamed at him, “You dumb fucker!  I just told you we didn’t want any gawwddamm trouble!  And that means we don’t want to hear anything from out of your cock-slurping mouth!”

Michael and Thomas both backed away, frightened by the vehemence of Mr. Patterson’s shouting.  He noticed the frightened boys and immediately reassured them in a gentle, fatherly, voice, “Don’t you boys be afraid.  This slave’s not going to hurt

you.  I’ll make sure of that.”

To Thomas there seemed to be nothing to make sure of; Craig was the kind of soft spoken and gentle-faced older guy he had always dreamed of having as a special friend.

Mr. Patterson asked the slave, “Why in the hell are your slave undies wet?”

Craig was almost afraid to answer, “Your son peed on me.”

“Well then take them off, because I’m going to hose you down.”

Craig knew that it was unlikely that Mr. Patterson would scold his son for peeing on him, since Mr. Patterson had just spat on him, and cruelly slapped his face.

Thomas and Michael were amazed to see the handsome slave getting naked in the sun in their neighbor’s backyard.

Mr. Patterson noticed that Craig was bending down to remove his work boots, but stopped him, “There’s no need to take them off.  Those are slave boots.  They’re made to take the water and rain.”

Mr. Patterson had the slave display himself again, “Okay, clasp your hands in back of you and stand tall so we can get a good look at you.  Chest out, stomach in, pelvis out!”

Craig’s body, naked except for slave boots, bright and clear in the sun, presented an alluring display, which took Thomas’s breath away.

No one said anything, except Mr. Patterson who concluded his examination with, “I think I made a damn good purchase.  Once I get you muscled up and beefed out you’re going to be one damn pretty spectacle!”

Mr. Patterson then ordered Craig to stand by the tree and turned the hose on him, first aiming the hose at his neck where his spit was still visible.  

After Mr. Patterson called to Craig to turn around so he could hose down his backside, he spoke to the Dayton boys, “This is the way you clean a slave boys.  Faster and easier than bathing the family dog!”

The free boys all laughed to ease the tension.  For Thomas it was a wild mixture of being in the presence of an unknown handsome male slave, the harshness of Mr. Patterson’s treatment of the slave, and his own awe and sex-struck fascination with the handsome naked male slave glistening in the sun.

Thomas was afraid of his own sexuality.  Afraid because he had heard how more than one religious fundamentalist in the area had had their sons enslaved for life when they found out that they were gay.  It was, actually, a rather common thing in the most rural areas of the Midwest.

And although Thomas’ father was not religious, he was quite conservative.  And therefore Thomas was continually concerned about his computer, and the sites he visited, and what would happen to him if his family ever found out about his homosexuality.

And it was that very repressive atmosphere which was now fueling Thomas’ sexual desire.  Seeing a naked slave made him wild with desire.  He wanted to be naked alongside Craig.  Thomas wondered; maybe if he himself were a slave he could be freely naked with other males like Craig.  Were all slaves as beautiful as Craig?  Did all slaves have such handsome hairless cocks?”

As Mr. Patterson hosed the slave down, Waylan picked up a slave training whip and did some practice swings.  He gave it to Thomas and told him to try it out.

Thomas took the whip and swallowed.  A whip in his hands.  A whip that could control Craig.  His cock, which had been firm from the first sight of Craig, now went hard.  He stretched his leg to free up the material of his fortunately baggy shorts.  Would they actually use this whip on beautiful Craig?  He did not want to see the gentle, beautiful, Craig hurt by the Patterson’s, but the mere thought of seeing beautiful Craig disciplined caused his dick to ooze happy juice.

After hosing down the slave, Mr. Patterson approached the slave.  When Thomas saw Craig cringe in fear of Mr. Patterson, his heart rate increased.  Mr. Patterson looked at Craig for a moment, then spoke; “Okay, here’s the plan.  I’ve got about 300 cinder blocks there at the end of the driveway.  I need them carried to the back of the garage, where a nursery is being built.  You are to carry one in each hand and take it to the construction site.  When you have deposited them, you are then to jog back to the pile and fetch two more.  Now move it!”

Craig was afraid to speak, but felt he had to; “Sir, I could do a better job if I had some pants on to let the bricks rest on my leg as I carried them.”

Craig was surprised that his request received a civil, unharsh, response from Mr. Patterson, “No, because I want you to carry the bricks out and away from your body by about one foot.  The reason for this task, like all of the tasks you will perform while you are with me, is to build up your physique.  That’s the only reason I bought you; to muscle you up so I can sell you for a little profit.  Muscling up slaves and then selling them is sort of a side business and a hobby of mine.”

Though Mr. Patterson’s response was civil, it was not a response Craig was happy to hear.  It made him feel even more like a beast of burden and nothing but a beast of burden.  One who was to be muscled up for profit.

Mr. Patterson looked at Thomas and Michael, “What I basically do is get the slaves I purchase bulked out.  To me, my slaves are just like little piggies that I’m fattening up for the market.”

Waylon laughed; Thomas smiled nervously.

Mr. Patterson nodded to the slave, “Okay, hop to it boy!”

As Craig did as instructed, he could hear the continuing conversation.  Mr. Patterson spoke, “Waylan, I need you to keep an eye on things.  I’ve got to get back to my office.”

Waylan, indicating his whip, asked eagerly, “Dad, can I use this on him if he slows down?”

“Absolutely not!  If he slacks or back talks, you call me.  Don’t you dare ever discipline a slave without my permission or instructions!  Do you hear me son?”

Waylan was embarrassed, and answered, “Yes Dad.”

Craig was happy to hear that Mr. Patterson used the same gruff voice on his son as he had used on him.  Perhaps it meant he wasn’t especially cruel towards just slaves, rather it was just his somewhat crude style,

Mr. Patterson continued, “If there’s a problem with Craig, you call me.  There are laws dictating how much a slave can be punished for various offenses.  And corporal punishment has very stringent guidelines regarding what kind of implement to use, what part of the body it can be used on, how many strokes, and so on.  That’s why I want you to call me if there’s a problem.  I need to begin showing you proper corporal punishment procedures.  You’re old enough now to start taking a little bit more control of the slaves.”

Waylan beamed with excitement, and Thomas could hardly believe his ears.  His 16-year old neighbor, Waylan, younger than himself by two years, was going to be taught how to punish handsome Craig.

And Craig was looking more handsome by the second to Thomas, as he carried the bricks, one in each hand, his arms stretched out from his body, his muscles taut and defined.  And sweat was forming on Craig as he jogged back to the brick pile, making his flesh gleam in the sun.  And his dick, swinging and dancing.  Thomas could not take his eyes off of Craig.  

Mr. Patterson noticed Thomas’ interest in his slave, and offered to let him learn the ropes as well, “You too, Thomas, if you’re interested, I can show you how to properly handle an errant slave.  Would you like that?”

Thomas was ecstatic, but lowered his voice so Craig could not hear, “Yes sir.  Very much so.  Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Patterson gave both Waylan and Thomas a pat on the back before going back into the house.

Thomas was conflicted.  At first Craig appeared to be the perfect man of his highest fantasy; the older lover he had always dreamed of.  Now he was being asked to consider Craig as an animal who needed to be watched, guarded, beaten, and controlled.

After about 10 minutes of watching a naked man haul bricks, young Michael left for home, bored with the spectacle.  But his older brother, Thomas, was anything but bored.  He was awe-struck, sex-struck, and life-struck.  Everything he had assumed about human beings and total respect for all humanity was called into question.  But all of his fleeting philosophical questionings were wiped out by his obsession with the glorious sight before him and the fact that he was, in a sense, helping to control the indentured man before him. 

Waylan was eager for a little whip action and at one point asked Thomas if they should make up some story about Craig so they could see him get a beating.  Thomas told Waylan that he would not be a part of it, and convinced Waylan that doing such thing would be wrong. 

But Waylan managed to have a good time for the next two hours as the boys watched the slave, and Waylan threw out his entire repertoire of slave jokes. 

Thomas pretended to be enjoying the event on the same level as Waylan, but in reality he was full of questions: If Craig was just a slave; would it be possible to touch him and make him touch you in return?  If Mr. Patterson could treat someone so harshly, who just a few weeks ago was a respected citizen, could anyone be in danger of ending up in similar circumstances?  What would it be like to be a slave and be controlled by someone as handsome as Mr. Patterson?

Of course Thomas did not actually ask Waylan such questions, because he needed to keep his sexual fascination with the situation before him completely hidden. 

When Thomas finally went home he felt like a new man.  He had seen and experienced what only the rich get to see and experience: a human being under total control and subjugation.  He was also, as never before, so desperately in need of sexual release.

To be continued...

Posted: 12/20/13