Breaking a boy in is hard work. Even when they want it--when they know they need it--it’s truly more of a delicate art than a science. You have to study the boy, feel his body, feel his will, find where he’s his strongest… and where he’s his most vulnerable.
When I found little Austin, he was alone and cold on the street. He appeared frail, too small and thin to be a man full grown. It wasn’t until I thoroughly assessed him that I found that this was just his natural way. He would always seem small and frail. And in my experience, that is what many of my clients find the most valuable.
For Austin, breaking him wasn’t just a matter of showing him my authority. It was clear he would listen to me and do what I told him. But when I touched him, he had a moment of hesitation. A doubt. A feeling in his mind that he was supposed to protect himself. Protect something he’d been told was his. This was part of the correction process. Part of the hard work ahead.
All his life, he’d been told he was his own person. His own man. That he needed to be strong and independent. Responsible for his future and that path he would walk. I could see it in his eyes as soon as he looked back up at me. He was lost, confused, and desperate for a place in this world. He didn’t want this responsibility. He didn’t want to have that burden.
I had to free him from this notion. Free him from his true cage: autonomy.
Austin first needed to be stripped of himself. His identity. His history and expectations. I brought him into the staging area, a dark, secluded room where I could help him undergo this essential transformation. He was nervous and shaking, as any lamb would be when brought to an altar of sacrifice. But through the fear in his eyes, I could see his heart bursting with hope. He didn’t know what was coming, but deep down, I knew he’d be happy that he didn’t have to be the one to decide.
I ran my hands over his body, feeling him, assessing him. He trembled a good deal. Something to fix before he heads to auction. I placed him down on all fours, splayed out, still weak from the street, barely able to keep up his insubstantial weight. I tried to calm him, running my hands over his head and face, petting him like a stray puppy. I was amused by how my palm seemed larger than his entire head. It excited me, and I knew it would excite my clients.
Pulling off his clothes, I knew I had to test him to see how he would respond to my authority. I pressed his nipples, feeling them grow firmer and more sensitive as I twisted and squeezed them. I had to assess his limits if I was going to get a fair price for him, so even as he squealed and moaned, I persisted, discovering that upper limit.
I won’t lie. I felt my cock grow harder as I felt his neck in my hands, seeing him suppress his fear to continue to yield to me. I knew my purpose in that moment wasn’t to gain satisfaction, but this beautiful boy inspired it in me. Seeing him, feeling him in the grip of my hand… I wanted to possess him and own him.
But he wasn’t ready yet. He still was clinging to the idea that his body was his. That his nipples were his to shield. Even as I reached my hands down into his pants and grabbed his boy cock, I felt that flinch of resistance. He was as hard as I was, but not yet a possession.
I pulled down his pants, freeing him from the garments of his past, the last threads of his individuality. I gave his nuts a good tap, hearing him squeal through the pain. He stayed in place. A good sign. I placed a hand over his mouth, silencing him… an act that made my cock even harder.
But it wasn’t until I had him naked and on all fours, his butt up in the air, red from my hand, that I could feel him beginning to give up the control. His tight, smooth hole was completely vulnerable to me, taking to my oiled fingers with increasing ease and acceptance. I was impressed with how much it could take, and I was certainly not gentle.
I oiled his body, seeing the red marks deepen as blood rushed to where I’d been. Slick and submissive, he began to melt in my hands. His cock became fully erect, pulsing in my grip as I reached for it. I knew I had to open him up, stretch his virgin hole, and see the look in his eye as the final bit of himself slipped away. The self that would become my property, my object… my merchandise...