Here perhaps, I should outline my background and sexual preferences: I am the twenty-nine year-old only heir to very wealthy parents who owned a beautiful house on one of the small islands in the Broadwater of the Nerang River near Southport on the Gold Coast of Queensland in Australia. Because of an interest in law, I completed an honours degree in that discipline at Griffith University although I had no need or desire to actually practise law.

My father inherited a fortune from my grandfather but as he was a gifted investor, added tenfold to its worth during his time. I had been a late arrival as my mother had been unable to bear children until a medical breakthrough allowed me to come along.

She was now in her early fifties and all the medical advice was that it would be unwise to allow her to carry me but she wasn’t going to give me up and the end result was that bearing and birthing me drained her terribly.

Dad was very solicitous of her and spent a small fortune on nurses and the best medical aid he could find but she only lasted seven years and then died at the age of fifty-nine. Dad and I lived on in the huge house with a butler and a number of domestic and outdoor slaves to look after us but while he put a brave face on it and was a wonderful father to me, I knew he never ceased to miss Mother and when he contracted liver cancer a couple of years ago, he didn’t even try to fight it.

By then I had completed my degree and was spending a lot of time with him working on his investment portfolio and when he died, I naturally fell into the role of investor myself.

Havers, our butler stayed on with me for a few months but I knew he wanted to retire and I then asked Toby, my lifelong friend who is a great sportsman and athlete but is not university material to fill in. He had drifted from job to job, never really finding anything that appealed to him and so I asked him if he would be interested in running my household and estate and of course living in with me.

He jumped at the chance and has been with me for a couple of years now.

As to my sex life, well I didn’t really have one to speak of. Dad was always asking me when I was going to find a steady girl and I have to say I tried. But they all seemed either to be after his (or later my) money, or simply weren’t women I would want to be my lifelong partner.

Did I have sex with them? Sometimes, but I didn’t really enjoy it all that much. I never discussed this with Dad or my doctor but I did confide in Toby and he sympathised, asking if I thought I had gay tendencies.

I examined my thoughts carefully on this point. Certainly a handsome young male (of legal age of course) appealed to me, but then so did athletic females. I didn’t much like girls with huge breasts and I positively disliked it if they had large hairy vaginas with open lips from which their inner parts were visible. In any case, I didn’t actually try sex with a male.

Did I dream about fucking them (or the males’ backsides)? No I didn’t. For some reason that I don’t understand, the sexual act in either case actually turns me right off. I can delight in the naked or semi-naked bodies of male or female athletes but only if they are my slaves – my sexual slaves, that is.

So did I use our household or garden slaves for my pleasure? No, I did not. First because Dad would have been appalled for he certainly didn’t do it himself, even after Mother died. And he didn’t allow Havers to do so either. But my own conscience wouldn’t permit it either. Although they are slaves and may be legally used for any purpose at all including sex, I still considered them as human beings (which the law does not).

As to my dreams, well they were rather far-out. I delighted in imagining myself visiting the slave dealerships and inspecting (very intimately) the bodies of both male and female slaves. This is quite normal for someone interested in purchasing a slave but of course, given my upbringing, I didn’t dare to actually go to them.

My dreams continued with punishing them both as a welcome (this is a punishment administered to every slave in a new ownership and is intended to underline to the slave that discipline will be maintained in the new place) and as a punishment for sins.

So why didn’t I pursue this line once Dad died? I can’t really answer that. I still dreamed of such inspections, etc, but I never actually went to either the State Slave Centre or any of the private dealerships.

Toby used to rag me about it. He is exclusively straight and he has Molly, one of our very comely downstairs slave-maids to his bed most nights. But his jibes were friendly although I thought he was beginning to worry a little about my continued celibacy and lack of proper female company.

So far as Jack was concerned, Toby well knew of my rather virulent dislike of that young man for I like to be friends with everyone and as I had done nothing to inspire this rather strange antipathy for me on his part, I really resented it. He used to stand back and watch when we met Jack near or in the bakery department so Jack did not associate him with me.

I had by now ceased to greet him as I hated his cold stare and rather obvious hostility toward me but Toby noted it and we often discussed it, trying to fathom his reasons. We never came to any real conclusions however and so I now tended to avoid the bakery, preferring not to give him an opportunity to show his ill will.

So this is my situation vis-à-vis Jack and Toby and I can return to the present.

Toby had thrown the daily paper down at my place at the breakfast table with a huge grin splitting his face from ear to ear. “Read this article, Jim. I think you will find it very interesting…”

I did and as I read down the item, my own face reflected Toby’s expression. “So, morals offences, eh? Taken some girl without her father’s consent and he’s now a slave for life?”

“Yes. And he’ll therefore be auctioned next Saturday!”

“Right. Then I want you to go to the auction and buy him. He doesn’t know you so you will be able to bring him back here without him realising I’m involved. Allow him to dress in shirt and pants for the journey home. Call me as you come over the bridge so I will be ready to be standing against the window with my back to you both as you come into my study. I’ll stay there for quite a while he fidgets and then I’ll turn around.

“He’ll get one hell of a shock for while he may be impressed at the island and this house, he has no idea who I am or that I own this place.

“From that moment on, I’ll play it by ear but I’m going to make his life hell, at least for a while…”

“Are you going to fuck him, Jim?”

“I don’t know. As you are very aware, that act is almost repugnant to me and I can’t imagine deriving any pleasure from it, but if he is indeed homophobic, as now seems likely, I might – or I might have one of the outdoor slaves do it while I watch. Roger has a huge dong. I imagine his rape of Jack would be more than a trifle painful, don’t you?”

He grinned. “Yes, I think it would. Alright, now he’s going to cost a great deal, can you ensure my household credit card will be adequate to pay for him?”

“Sure, I’ll up the credit level to a million dollars.”

And so I now turned around, very slowly and stared at the tall, muscular and handsome (in a homely way) young man (he was just twenty-two at that time).

His face drained of blood as he stared me. “You!” he said in a strangled scream. “No, it can’t be! Oh God!”

I smiled in a disdainful manner, moved up close to him and slapped his face – hard – once, twice, and then backed away. “Yes, Jack, it’s me alright and I now own you, body and soul…

“Speaking of which,” I said, turning to Toby, “Isn’t he rather overdressed for a slave. I thought slaves are required by law to be naked?”

Of course this was for Jack’s benefit as Toby and I had arranged his clothing just so I could watch as he was made to strip.

Toby played up to it, naturally: “Oh, of course, sir. My mistake…”

He turned to the slave and scowled: “Strip out of those trogs, boy. Start with the pants…”

Jack uttered another strangled cry but looking fearfully from me, who had given him two very hard slaps to his face, to the man who had brought him here and then his face assumed a sort-of resigned expression and he undid the belt and dropped his trousers to the floor.

I sighed as I watched his beautifully-muscled thighs flex ad he lifted his feet out of each trouser leg and kicked the garment away from him.

I had moved around to the front of my desk and now leaned back on it and simply looked over his lower body with pleasure, as if I was contemplating fucking him.

“Assume the Position of Inspection, boy,” I said softly and he complied, that being taught to every new slave in the SSC. It involved him spreading his feet about a half-metre apart, then raising his hands to clasp them up behind his head and then pull the elbows right back.

This position is perfect to inspect a naked slave but of course he still had on the shirt. I allowed my gaze to travel from his shapely calves, up to his powerful thighs and then to dwell for long minutes on his genital organs.

They were very apparent for every new slave taken into the SSC is not only stripped naked on arrival and auctioned that way, but is also depilated nude of all body and facial hair from the eyes down.

His cock was impressive. It looked to be as much as twenty centimetres long and was rather thick, too. I like looking at a man’s impressive genitals and his were worth looking at. His balls, too, were striking, being of the dimensions of duck eggs (much bigger than hen’s eggs) and the whole package set off his impressive musculature (or as much as I could see of it at that moment) wonderfully.

I now moved forward and ran my hands and fingers over his thigh muscles then, to his horror, brought my right hand up to cup his balls and massage them in my fingers while staring right into his terror-stricken eyes.

I smiled as I realised he was indeed homophobic and that I would play on this fear until he finally got used to being used by men exclusively.

I then moved my hand up under the shirt to marvel at the feel of his abdominal muscles which were clearly well-developed, counting eight little pebbles in the array. But then I stepped back and allowed my face to darken and I then raised my voice and screamed at him: “Strip naked, whore. That is the way you will be for the rest of your life so get to it, NOW!”

He collapsed at my vehemence and scrambled to tear open the shirt front without care for the buttons, probably aware it was destined to be a cleaning rag, anyway.

And now he stood up before me, stark naked at last and I marvelled as I beheld the perfection of his beautifully-muscled body. It wasn’t overdone. He was no body-builder but every muscle was in exactly the right proportions and his velvety-smooth skin set them off to a tee. In short, although I had guessed he had a good physique from his appearance clothed, I really hadn’t guessed at his true perfection. And so now I could inspect the whole of his body untrammelled by any clothing at all and I went for it with pleasure.

This was, after all, my absolute delight in all of my post-pubic reveries: to feel and fondle a superbly-built young man or woman enjoying their shame and horror at the indecency of it, and aware they will be thinking of what I might wish to do next to them.

In this boy’s case, it would of course be his welcome.