Breaking a boy is hard work. Even when they want it – when they know they need it – it’s really more of a delicate art than a science. You have to study the boy, feel his body, feel his will, find where he’s strongest… and where he’s most vulnerable.
When I found little Austin, he was alone and cold on the street. He looked frail, too small and skinny to be a grown man. It wasn’t until I carefully assessed him that I discovered this was just his natural way. He would always seem small and frail. And in my experience, that’s what many of my customers find most valuable.
For Austin, breaking him wasn’t just a matter of showing him my authority. It was clear that he would listen to me and do what I told him. But when I touched him, he had a moment of hesitation. Doubt. A feeling in his mind that he was supposed to be protecting himself. Protecting something he’d been told was his. It 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 had to be strong and independent. Responsible for his future and the path he would take. I could see it in his eyes whenever he looked at me. He was lost, confused and desperate for a place in this world. He didn’t want the responsibility. He didn’t want the burden.
I had to free him from that notion. Free him from his true cage: autonomy.
Austin first needed to be stripped of himself. His identity. His history and expectations. I took him to the staging area, a dark, secluded room where I could help him undergo this essential transformation. He was nervous and trembling, as any lamb brought to an altar of sacrifice would be. But through the fear in his eyes, I could see his heart bursting with hope. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but deep down I knew he’d be glad he didn’t have to be the only one to decide.
I ran my hands over his body, palpating it, assessing it. He was shaking a lot. Something to take care of before he left for the auction. I put him on all fours, splayed out, still weak from the street, barely able to support his inconsistent weight. I tried to calm him down, running my hands over his head and face, petting him like a stray puppy. I was amused by the way my palm seemed bigger than his whole head. It excited me and I knew it would excite my customers.
Removing his clothes, I knew I had to test him to see how he would respond to my authority. I pressed on his nipples, feeling them become firmer and more sensitive as I twisted and squeezed. I had to assess his limits if I wanted to get a fair price for him, so even as he screamed and moaned, I persisted, discovering that upper limit.
I wouldn’t lie. I felt my cock harden as I felt his neck in my hands, watching him suppress his fear of continuing to yield to me. I knew my goal at that moment wasn’t to get 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 clung to the idea that her body was his. That his nipples were his protection. Even as I put my hands down his pants and grabbed his boy cock, I felt that twitch of resistance. He was as hard as I was, but not yet a possession.
I pulled down his pants, freeing him from the clothes of his past, the last threads of his individuality. I gave his nuts a good slap, hearing him cry out in pain. He stayed put. 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, ass in the air, red from my hand, that I could feel him begin to relinquish control. His tight, smooth hole was completely vulnerable to me, taking my oiled fingers with increasing ease and acceptance. I was impressed by how much this could take, and I certainly wasn’t being nice.
I oiled his body, watching 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, throbbing in my grip as I grabbed him. I knew I had to open him up, stretch his virgin hole and see the look in his eyes as the last part of himself escaped. The me that would become my property, my object… my commodity..
