How to Create a Fuckboy

At 11:45 pm on December 31, Fuckboy and I were sitting in front of the TV, waiting for the ball drop at Times Square. The cameras showed the revelers in their stupid oversized 2008 plastic glasses, milling about, pushing, shoving, blowing their horns. We prefered our own kind of revelry. Fuckboy had been sweetly blowing my horn, until it was as hard as a steel pole. At that point, he got up on my lap to perch upon it. Oh, we had our own variety of pushing and shoving, as that marvelous smooth white butt descended the pole. Unlike the crystal one in the city, his two bright spheres then ascended, descended, ascended, over and over like an instant replay, faster and faster. The two revelers screamed with abandon like everyone else on this happy night. When we couldn't wait any longer, the champagne cork was popped and the precious bubbly exploded. Now we sat quietly, his rear end still gripping my deflating cock, the strains of "Auld Lang Syne" filling the room. The party on TV was no match for our celebration.

2007 had been the best year of my life. I had a new satisfying and lucrative career and a new delightful young partner to share my bed. I also firmly believe it was the best of his nearly nine years as well. What would the new year have in store?

Oh, I definitely had my wishes. I wished I could keep Fuckboy this young forever. I wished I could clone him into multiple Fuckboys. I wished I didn't need to worry about the economy, and its effect on our business. I wished I didn't have to wait every night until the last client left before I could lay down in my own damn bed.

I wondered what Fuckboy's New Year's Eve wishes might be. I tried to see through his bouncing head of unmanageable hair into his sweet brain. Was he wishing he could have at least one young friend? someone to swim with in his pool? to wrestle with on the rug? to giggle with at copulating dogs? Was he wishing to grow and become a man like me, his god? to fuck all the kows he meets and fill them with his prodigious cum?

I could imagine what the bitch was wishing down the hall in her hole. She was no doubt wishing I could disappear from her life. That she could have her son back. That she could be strong for just once in her life. None of that could ever happen.

The previous week, I had declared four holidays. We closed down the business for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Year's Eve, and New Year's Day. Fuckboy and I used the time to leisurely cherish each other's company and fuck with abandon, with no concern for appointments. On Christmas morning, I watched his wide eyes as he opened my presents, a nice butt plug and a dildo, both his size. He kissed me and then handed me his present, a brand new Blackberry to keep track of all our business. He made the bitch play Christmas songs on the piano as we snuggled and kissed and fucked the day away.

Wednesday, January 2, 2008, we went right back to our busy schedule. El Greco was our first client of the new year.

One cold morning in early February, while Vera was making pancakes, I asked Fuckboy what he was learning in school.

"We're studying the Civil War now, Sir." He went on to tell how his teacher spent a long time discussing slavery, explaining what an evil system it was, and how fortunate we were now to be living in a country and a century where everyone is free.

"Well, Fuckboy, it was an evil system, because the only reason that some people were made slaves was because they were black. It wasn't fair. A black man has every right to be free as anyone else."

"Yeah, like Mr. Washington." Fuckboy's Saturday night 8 PM client was a handsome African American stud with muscles like a prize fighter and a nice nine incher.

"That's right. Washington shouldn't be anyone's slave, should he?"

"No Sir."

"However, your teacher was wrong about one thing." Fuckboy looked at me anxious to hear my explanation. "You see, many people own slaves today."

"Really?"

"There are more slaves in the world today than ever before, Fuckboy. All over the world. China, India, Thailand, Africa, Brazil."

"Even kids?"

"Most of them are kids. In very poor countries their families can't afford to keep them so they sell them. It's a good thing, really, because otherwise these children would just be trying to live on the streets. In Haiti they're called restavecs. That's French. Maybe I'll start teaching you French. In the Philippines there are orphanages that train boys and girls so they can sell them to brothels."

"But nobody's a slave here in America. This is the land of the free."

"Well, that's not true either, Fuckboy." He dropped his jaw. "You see, there are a lot of people who ought to be slaves. Nothing to do with skin color or anything. It's just the way they were born. A few lucky people realize this and they sell themselves to a Master. Then they're a lot happier."

"You don't call me slave no more. Am I still your slave, Sir?"

"Well, Fuckboy, you were more like an indentured servant."

"Oh, we talked about the word "denshered". Freddy said it was a slave who had false teeth and we all giggled. Freddy's a smartass. But my teacher explained that it was like a temporary slave."

"That's right, you're very smart. In fact, for your ninth birthday next week, we'll make it official. You won't be a slave any more."

"What will I be?"

"Now that you learned to be a good fuckboy, I've come to think of you more as a business partner than a slave."

"Does that mean I can call you Partner?"

"No, I'm still the Boss of the business so you should call me Sir just like you call all our clients Sir. It's good for business."

"Except Carson. He don't want me call him Sir."

"That's right. A smart businessman knows each of his clients and treats each one accordingly. He gives him what he wants. Stroking is good business."

"I see. When I was a slave, I did lots of chores. Now I don't got chores no more. I get to fuck instead. Cause I was just denshered."

"That's right. And Vera quit her job so she could do all the chores for us."

"So, really she's our slave now."

Vera mumbled, "You're damn right."

Fuckboy looked at his mother. "What did you say, Bitch? I don't like you giving me any lip, Bitch. You're our slave now. Uncle say so."

"Yes, Honey."

"Don't call me Honey no more. Call me Sir."

"Yes Sir."

"When I was a slave Uncle told me slaves gotta do their chores naked. So take off all your clothes, Bitch."

"Yes Sir."

Fuckboy had a pretty smirk on his face as he watched his mother do his bidding naked. His loyalty to me was now unchallenged.

Later I had a talk with him in private. I told him it probably wasn't good for business to disrespect her in front of clients. They were paying to fuck a nice innocent little boy. He promised to save the abuse for when clients weren't around, except for some like El Greco who understood the picture.

There were also a few clients who seemed uncomfortable having to look at the bitch's naked fat ass when they came over. I told the Fuckboy and he ordered Vera to get dressed when they were expected. Specifically, he said, "You know Mr. Jones don't like looking at your big fat fuckin ass, Bitch! Put a fuckin damn dress on. That hairy beaver is scaring away the clientele! You trying to undermine our business, Bitch?" Then after Jones left, Fuckboy would tell her, "Take the damn dress off, Bitch! Don't you know a fuckin slave don't wear no fuckin clothes. Who you think you are, you uppity Bitch?" It didn't matter if his orders were contradictory. He was showing her her place on the totem pole.

This new arrangement was good for me as well. I no longer had to deal with the bitch, her glares, her obstinateness. Instead, Fuckboy, now in charge of personnel, could order her around: "Wash my fuckin clothes for school, Bitch."

"Empty the stinkin garbage, Bitch."

"Where's uncle's fuckin supper, Bitch?"

"Where's the change from the grocery store; now show me the fuckin receipt; you know I can't trust you, you thievin slave."

"Shit, your ass is sure fat, Bitch; either you ain't workin hard enough or we're givin you too fuckin much to eat."

As if this banter wasn't humiliating enough for Vera, Fuckboy's eight-year old mind created other ways to debase her. He would sometimes dump her dinner on the floor and order her to eat it like a dog; after all, that's what a bitch was, a dog. He made her leave the bathroom door open when she took a piss or a crap and then he yelled about how much it stank. He often made her lie on the floor and then he'd squat and fart in her face. Once he made her stick a cucumber up her cunt and fuck herself with it while he laughed his silly ass off. No matter what her darling little boy made her do, Vera treated him like a god. She was just glad to be considered worthy to serve him.

He began hanging his belt on the fridge handle to discipline her when he felt she needed it. Or when he needed it. There were some clients, like Omar, who liked to get a little rough with the boy. He took it like a soldier, but after they left, he took out his frustrations by whipping his mother's ass. It was good for him to have a slave. Better than having a dog.

There was a parent's day at the boy's school. I went and sat through the classes with the other parents. I was amazed at how much time was wasted. The teacher, trying to meet the needs of 25 fourth graders, had very little time for any individual attention. Often Fuckboy was just sitting at his desk waiting while the teacher gave some of the slower students time to catch up. No wonder kids got bored in school. I remembered my own school days and how easy it was for me to get into trouble.

Next: New Home, New School