Master Saint was in the market for a Boy. If there were rankings in the often seedy world of BDSM and kink out on the streets, Master Saint would be at the top. He has his money, if not his hands, in anything of any sexual consequence in the city.

There was certainly no shortage of Boys in all shapes, sizes, and degrees of training that would fall to their knees at the snap of his fingers. However, he had learned, like so many other men who had gained admission to The Collective, that no ordinary dominant/submissive mind game out in the bars and playrooms could equal the thrill, intensity, or quality-of-service found among the ones bought and sold from the Collective’s auction block. A serious Master needs the service of a real Slaveboy, and for a Master of Master Saint’s standing and financial resources, only the best would do.

In the world of ownership and service, though, “The Best” is a highly subjective and personal description. That was the question that tumbled around in Master Saint’s head. He wanted and needed a Boy, but what exactly would the best Boy be? He was a busy man, and not always a patient one. A well-trained Boy with the stamina for heavy play was usually the wisest choice.

Tonight, though, he was not thinking clearly. He was feeling haunted or, to be more honest, infatuated by a new almost-virgin boy that he had helped appraise a few weeks previously. Of course, Master Saint would never easily admit that he was infatuated by anything, least of all a random pretty face that The Collective had picked up who-knows-where. Not only that, having had the privilege of participating in The Boy’s appraisal, it was not generally appropriate to bid on him at his first auction. It might well have the appearance of insider trading, as it were. Of course, Master Saint is not in the habit of respecting the concept of “appropriate.”

When Boy Jack stepped out of the shadows and knelt on the block, Master Saint’s hand almost raised itself to bid. Of course he wanted to bid! No one spends that much money without wanting to. There was just something about that Boy, though. Something that Master Saint had to have.

The Boy joined The Collective for the money. Not that he didn’t genuinely enjoy sex with men, of course. He had a genuine curiosity about the kinkier side of sex.

He took obedience more or less in stride. It didn’t turn him on; he was simply used to it. He couldn’t really imagine any Master being more domineering and exacting than his own father, the three-star General, had been. He had watched all of the men in his family climb up the military ranks. He knew well that if you want to get to where you want to be, you start at the bottom and work your way up. If anything, given Boy Jack’s potential earnings, he considered a few years in slavery was a shortcut.

The evening of the auction, several Boys went on the block before he did. The Boys had spent the afternoon being prepared for this moment with haircuts, manicures, pedicures, body grooming, sexual cleanliness, and an hour in the weightroom to fill out their physique to maximum advantage. Afterwards, they were left sitting on a bench for ages in near darkness backstage, waiting to be beckoned.

After the bustle of the afternoon, the forced silence and stillness was disconcerting. The time before it was Boy Jack’s turn seemed to take forever and to rush by in the blink of an eye at the same time to him. Then the moment came. Master Banner pointed, snapped his fingers, and Boy Jack stood up and stepped around the edge of the curtain, where the spotlight blinded his eyes.

He knew exactly what was happening and what was expected. They had even rehearsed the whole event earlier that morning. The confidence Boy Jack had felt those hours ago when he declined when Master Banner gave The Boy a final chance to back out faded like the cigar smoke the wealthy Buyers blow from their lips.

He tried to focus on following Master Banner’s orders, but one of those was to keep his shoulders back, chin up, and eyes open at all times. That meant staring straight out into the hall. His vision was compromised by the bright spotlight, but it was clear enough to see the shadows of the men gathered to bid on the right to own Boy Jack’s body.

Master Banner turned him and posed him, sensuously smearing oil over The Boy’s skin–making the youthful curves of his fit body glisten. The quiet chime pinged with the climbing bids, ringing as loud as a church bell in Boy Jack’s brain. He barely had the awareness to feel any possible shame when his ass cheeks were pulled apart to display his hole to the bidders.

The disembodied voice of the announcer said, “The bidding is closed!” and it was over. Once again, Boy Jack felt like the time he had stepped out on to the stage had been both hours ago and seconds ago. Between the lights in his eyes and his disoriented emotions, Boy Jack didn’t even see the face of the man who had bought him.

He was not surprised when a pair of strong arms wrapped around his chest, nor when rough hands began to explore his body. He had been told that it was a tradition for buyers to fuck their new slaves for the first time on the auction block in front of the crowd. The Master finally turned Boy Jack’s head to the side where he caught a glimpse of a familiar face.

His new owner was Master Saint, the most intimidating of the three men who had appraised him. Boy Jack did not have time to think through that, much less analyze the envious lustful gazes of the men watching Master Saint use his new toy. Boy Jack’s entire focus was on the fat cock stretching his hole painfully wide and drilling hard and deep into his guts, over and over, with the power and privilege of ownership. The new life of The Boy Jack Waters had begun.