Email: Amalaric
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ZACH IN THE X-FRAME
The ringing door bell seemed inconsequential in the sunny Saturday calm and Fred Ryder stretched languidly in an over-stuffed easy chair before hoisting himself to his feet, tossing the newspaper on a nearby coffee table, and shuffling across the living room to see who it might be. On the way, he glanced at the expansive sliding glass door letting in bright sunlight from the back garden and sighed with pleasure. His slave, Zach, hard at work on the list of chores drawn up the night before, was busy cleaning the outside of the glass door. The contented master paused for a few seconds to admire the tableaux thinking, not for the first time, that purchasing Zach was one of the best investments he had ever made. The slave had proven quite useful and, yeah, Fred had to admit it; Zach had provided many hours of pure pleasure as well. Falling easily into the role of master, Fred kept the boy in good shape- with strenuous duties involving physical labor (his newly landscaped garden, front back and sides, was the envy of the neighborhood) and regular workouts involving weights and supervised calisthenics. Old magazine copies of Men’s Fitness littered his study and the assiduous owner had quickly mastered a workout formula suitable for his slave, upping the reps and suggested weights described by the magazine five to ten times until his buck was bathed in sweat and whimpering with agony.
Evening hours spent in front of the TV had dropped noticeably as Fred supervised, and relished the sight of, his young slave struggling through the exercise repetitions before being dismissed to his cell and some much needed sleep.
Throughout, Fred followed the inspired resolve born of the sight of his buck newly unwrapped on the day of his purchase; Zach was generally kept stripped down to a jock strap or white cotton briefs, unless the weather was exceptionally cold or a visitor expected who was known to be either a Jehovah’s Witness or a member of the Republican Party. And, so, the master paused as he crossed the expansive living room, briefly ignoring the ringing door bell, to admire the fine sight of his slave dutifully polishing the clear glass of the sliding door. Zach was stripped to a pair of snowy calvins that fairly glowed in the sunlight. Though it was only late morning, the day was already hot and the busy slave sported a fine slick of new sweat, muscles suitably highlighted in sensuous movement as he ran a Windex soaked rag over the clear glass. Good boy, you’re well worth your keep…and hardly any trouble… Fred shook his head and cracked a bemused smile. Zach did have his moments! The brochure, back at the dealership was explicit- slaves were strap trained and guaranteed to obedience…but the strap existed for a reason. For instance, Zach could be clumsy or, sometimes, just a little slow on the uptake when it came to carrying out a complex command. Then there were the rare times when he just seemed to get in a lazy kind of ornery mood, dragging his feet, squirreling away all unseen in some shady corner to daydream…stuff like that. Rarer still were the times when the buck blurted out a stammered protest, maybe cursing under his breath or briefly flashing a thunder cloud look at something he thought (slaves were definitely not accorded the luxury of thinking!!) unreasonable. Well, the remedy for those types of infractions was simple, and corporal punishment was the panacea corrective to any aspect of unacceptable behavior. Fred was a strict disciplinarian and, secretly, enjoyed it. Of course, he also considered himself to be a fair task master (and also secretly enjoyed a little variation), scaling Zach’s discipline upwards to fit the gravity of the situation. As often as not he would simply command the shamed buck to lower his shorts and bend over, grasping hairy ankles, as Fred laid a few snaps with light whip or paddle on the tight expanse of his creamy ass. Something more serious or irritating required a stronger statement and, occasionally, Zach would find himself stripped naked and strung up to the thick branch of a tree or a beam in the garage. Those sessions could last up to an hour and the whole canvas of the groaning slave’s muscular body was fair game as the medium weight cat scored some hungry licks. Basically, though, Zach gave little trouble and Fred, considering himself a reasonable sort of guy (and, let’s face it, still learning the pleasures and possibilities of ownership), didn’t push things too far.
The door swung open and Fred Ryder found himself staring with mild interest at an impatient UPS man in the distinctive brown company uniform. Damn, he thought, this one missed his calling in life- I would have paid an extra thousand for a stud like you back on the store room floor… ‘Yes?’ Fred pitched his voice to polite neutrality. ‘Got a delivery, sir,’ the man glanced at an invoice form fluttering on his clip board, ‘from the slave dealership. Seems that you ordered an X-frame…and various accoutrements?’ Fred brightened up like a kid on Christmas Day, having nearly forgotten the impulsive purchase, and replied, ‘Yep, that’s right. It’s here…now?’ The UPS man smiled and nodded toward his van. ‘Correct, sir, all boxed and ready to assemble. Please sign…’ and he shoved the clip board toward Fred who fumbled with a proffered pen, hands visibly shaking. Half an hour later, several long boxes and a few smaller ones littered the sun drenched lawn in the back yard and Fred stood staring with a bemused look on his pasty face. He was a white collar office man and sometime couch potato- the thought of assembling an X-frame soured the otherwise exciting possibilities of the morning. Suddenly, laughing out loud, Fred theatrically shook his head- what the hell! He owned a slave! Spying Zach, who had moved from window washing to pruning, he shouted, ‘Over here, boy…and fetch the tool box from the garage.’
The young slave warily eyed the welter of wood, brackets, screws, bolts, eye rings, and shiny chain spread on the grass. Bending to his task, he began the process of assembly in obedient silence but Fred, sitting in a nearby lounge chair, was amused by Zach’s body language, which told a different story. Finally, it came out- ‘Sir?’ The tentative remark, delivered in a diffident baritone, made Fred squirm with pleasure. ‘Yes, Zach, what is it?’ ‘Sir, have I done something wrong…sir?’ Fred played dumb, fucking with the handsome slave and shrugged, ‘Don’t know what you mean, Zach.’ The buck heaved a sigh and attached an upright to the already assembled base. A few moments passed, he sighed again then spoke up- as Fred knew he would. ‘You gonna use this thing on me, aren’t you sir?’ ‘That’s right, Zach, just think of it as a new toy…just for you.’ Fred smiled and leaned back in the lounge, enjoying the show. A little more than an hour later, Zach screwed in the last eye bolt and the assembled X-frame was complete, imposing in its polished, dark wooden grandeur, dominating the evenly trimmed lawn and casting a stark shadow in the late morning glare. Zach seemed unusually subdued as he took a short break, sipping a bowl of cold water fetched from the uncoiled hose. Bet you’re pretty eager at this point to get back to your yard work, eh boy?? Fred ignored the question brimming in his slave’s wide eyes and dismissed him to resume the day’s duties. The tall buck finished his bowl of water and turned his broad, naked back, shambling across the lawn to some task but was stopped dead in his tracks by an off hand remark. ‘Oh, by the way,’ the master was all oily cheer, ‘tomorrow’s Labor Day, boy. That’s sort of your holiday if you know what I mean?’ Zach slowly turned around and ambled back to the master’s chair as he had been trained to do when spoken to. ‘So,’ Fred continued, ‘I’ve been thinking, it being a holiday and all, and a special one at that…well, I think I’ll invite some friends over, maybe have a barbecue…’ He smiled as a shudder of fear and revulsion passed with seismic intensity through his waiting slave’s tense body. ‘Yeah, a barbecue, and, since it’s Labor Day, I reckon I’d like to showcase my slave and try out the new X-frame.’ He glanced at the buck, struck dumb with shock, a thousand dark thoughts roiling dimly through his mind. ‘Psych yourself up, boy. Tomorrow we’ll break this baby in.’
Labor Day dawned bright and clear as it always seemed to do and all over America the unofficial ‘end of Summer’ festivities commenced. The beaches were packed for those lucky enough to live near or visit the coast. Community parks, shaded with ancient oaks, elms or sycamores sported the usual picnic tables groaning with the weight of grilled hot dogs, burgers, gallons of potato salad, beer, soda, and any number of other things calculated to provoke a stroke or heart attack at whatever distant point the piper might demand payment. Fred Ryder woke early, giddy with excitement and, never one for parks or the beach, fairly skipped into his own back yard. ‘Zach! Get your ass over here!’ The nervous buck shuffled into place, five feet front and side of his master, shaking slightly with trepidation. ‘Guests will be arriving soon, boy, and you and this here X-frame are the centerpieces of the party.’ He picked at his ass, deep in thought. ‘Think I’ll leave the mounting for when the guests are here, but in the meantime I want you and the frame to somehow stick together…’ He frowned, chewing on his lower lip. ‘I know! Turn around boy.’ Zach slowly complied and Fred, wrenching the slave’s arms backward, cuffed his wrists together just over the high rise of muscular ass. Guiding Zach toward one of the upright posts, the master tersely commanded, ‘Squat down, boy,’ and, impatient of any delay, laid both hands on Zach’s broad shoulders, forcing him down on his haunches where the cuffs were then linked to one of the eye bolts protruding from the hard wood near the base of the X-frame. ‘Excellent!’ Fred stepped back to admire the site of the big, muscle bound buck hunkered down beneath the looming post. ‘Sir…’ Zach seemed to choke on the word, ‘please…I haven’t done anything wrong.’ Fred looked at the buck, terrified and humiliated by the looming ordeal and, ignoring the question, turned toward the house to make sure everything was ready.
The yard was full of guests- guzzling beer and munching the copious food that leapt sizzling off the grill- and many of them paused to admire Zach, chained to the post of the towering X-frame, often running hands hungrily over his bulging muscles, mussing his short hair, or playfully punching him on back, chest and shoulders. As the sun crossed its zenith, Fred clapped his hands, assembling the wandering or chatting guests, before his slave and the imposing X-frame. ‘My friends!’ There was scattered applause as Fred smiled then continued, ‘Friends! What party is complete without entertainment?’ The guests beamed approval. Fred reached down and released Zach from his cuffs, ordering him to stand, which the slave gratefully did, rubbing chaffed wrists. ‘Strip down, boy.’ The command, so stark and unexpected, caught Zach by surprise. His breath hitched, head averted, a silent and utterly futile plea dead on his lips as he, nevertheless, stooped and peeled off his shorts. The crowd hooted its approval, drinking in the sight of the naked young buck in his prime. Fred turned toward his buddy, Officer Jim Thornton of the local PD, ‘Jimmy, would you help me with the honors?’ The cop nodded drunkenly and the two men guided Zach into the frame, cuffing both wrists and ankles, stretching him tight between the high posts. Someone in the crowd whistled and a tittering woman was hushed by her husband. Fred cleared his throat and motioned for silence. ‘Let’s have a little break for forty five minutes or so, take some time to admire the goods- and by all means touch him if you like, he won’t break (hahaha)!!’ The crowd nodded collective approval and sporadic laughter acknowledged the proud owner’s rather lame joke. ‘And after our little break,’ Fred rummaged in one of the newly opened boxes that came with the frame, ‘well, I’ve just been itching to try out this baby!’ He flourished a shiny black bull whip, probably freshly made in Tijuana, that the dealership had thrown in at no extra cost.
Zach felt a trickle of warm sweat crease the upper bridge of his nose, stinging his eyes, distracting him, like the bite of a hungry mosquito, from the interested gropes of the beery crowd. The bull whip lay on a nearby picnic table, conveniently placed where he could see it and meditate on the implications. His suddenly blurred vision doubled and that seemed appropriate as the slave dimly considered that the whip would more than double the pain of strap or paddle that, until now, had more or less been his lot. He flexed massive muscles, unconsciously preparing himself for that moment when cutting leather met supple flesh, cursing his fate and the name of his master. Lost in bitter reverie, stretched naked between unforgiving posts of wood, Zach hung his head in shame as the cop’s wife fondled his balls. He didn’t hear the crack of the whip, but felt it well enough as a vivid red stripe curled fire across his broad shoulders. The stunned buck grunted with surprise as the guests cheered and Fred Ryder, reckoning he could use some exercise to make up for all of the hot dogs and potato salad, readied himself for a long and amusing session. ‘Happy Labor Day!’ he shouted, ‘Ain’t life just grand!’
