The Telemachus Story Archive

The Little Slave Boy
By Hooder

The Little Slave Boy

Rob lay on his bed, staring at the grey-painted wall. He hadn’t been able to sleep – at first because of the sounds of sex coming from the other side of the wall, and then later because of what was on his mind. He shivered, and pulled the thin duvet closer around him. There was no radiator in his room, but that alone didn’t account for the shivering – most of it was because he felt totally and absolutely wretched. It was the morning of December 23rd and it was not going to be a good Christmas.

The first nine months living with Cameron had been heaven. The man had been everything he’d ever hoped for: kind, considerate, loving, and sexy. Cameron had fallen for the small, cute, blond boy the moment he’d first seen him - he had loved Rob’s shaggy-haired, little-boy-lost look, and the sex had been intense, wonderful. Cameron had introduced him to leather and BDSM, and in the early months he had lived as Cameron’s worshipping slave. He hadn’t liked everything Cameron had done to him, but the good things had been so unbelievably good that they had made up for the few that hadn’t been, and he was so head-over-heels in love with Cameron that he wanted to deny him nothing.

But then, slowly, things had begun to fall apart. It had started one day when Cameron had brought a ‘friend’ home for dinner. As a slave, Rob did the cooking, but Cameron always insisted on serving it. They’d sat round the table, the meal keeping hot in the kitchen, Cameron and the new boy talking and laughing. Rob had sat there smiling, sipping his beer occasionally, but hadn’t been included in the conversation at all. It had been as if he hadn’t been there. Then Cameron had stood up, walked into the kitchen to dish the food up, and the new boy had followed him. Laughter and more chat from there. Still at it (Cameron had been telling the boy about his last visit to a club in the city) they reappeared, and Cameron had put the plates on the table. Two plates. They’d started eating, and Rob had sat there for five minutes before either of them had noticed he hadn’t been given any.

Rob had laughed politely, made a joke of it, and had gone to get his own – but inside he’d felt awful. Later, while the other two had drinks in the living room, Rob had gone to his own room. He had heard sounds that, while clearly intentionally muted, had nevertheless been unmistakably those of Cameron and the boy having sex.

When the boy had gone, Cameron had apologised for the ‘mistake’ at dinner, but it had been clear to Rob at that moment that his importance in the man’s life was a thing of the past.

Rob sat in his room a lot, thinking about things. About how Cameron was all over boys he met for the first time, but that he rarely saw any of them more than twice. Eventually it had dawned on Rob that Cameron was one of those guys who loved novelty. New boys were his thing, and Rob knew that now he was last year’s model, obsolete.

Soon after that, at breakfast one morning, Cameron had poured himself a cup of coffee and said, “I think an open relationship would be a good idea, don’t you?”

Rob had had no choice. What could he do? Cameron was the only man he’d ever loved. The conversation had been long and painful, but it had been decided – by Cameron - that from now on both of them would be free to have sex with whoever they pleased. The fact that Rob didn’t want to have sex with anyone else was irrelevant – the decision had been made.

They hadn’t had sex together any more after that, but Cameron had begun bringing boys home on a regular basis and Rob had had to make himself scarce and shut himself in his room while they were there.

“Get someone for yourself then, instead of moaning about it,” Cameron had shouted at him one day.

Rob had burst into tears and said that he didn’t want to – that he loved Cameron.

The man had just shaken his head. “You’ve become a pain in the arse, you know that? Why don’t you just fuck off?”

That had been a week ago.

Rob was still shivering. A tear ran slowly down his face but he didn’t bother brushing it away. Last night he’d come to a decision, and he’d packed his backpack with the few of his belongings that meant anything to him. After a while he got out of bed, picked up the backpack and gazed at the topmost things. At the slave collar with his name tag on it; at the leather cuffs he used to wear so that Cameron could restrain him and play with him whenever he felt like it… He should by rights be starting to cook breakfast now, but instead he closed the backpack, walked to the front door, and put his leather jacket on – the leather jacket Cameron had given him for his birthday months ago. He closed his eyes and sighed, then opened the door. It was snowing outside. He swallowed, and put his flat keys down on the little table. It was blindingly obvious to him that Cameron didn’t want him any more. Didn’t love him any more. He walked out, and softly closed the door behind him.

He had no idea what to do, where to go. All the money he had in the world - fifty pounds – was in his back pocket, and he didn’t know anybody. He’d met and moved in with Cameron only a few days after he’d first come to the city, after his mum and dad had chucked him out him when they’d found out he was gay, and he hadn’t made any friends to speak of; certainly nobody he could ask for help. He got off the bus in the city centre and looked around. People everywhere. Rushing and carrying bags full of food and presents. He thought about the cologne that he’d bought Cameron for his Christmas present – he’d only been able to afford the tiny bottle that was the smallest they did. It was wrapped and standing on the table in the living room next to the card. He hoped Cameron would like it.

The sky was steely grey, a bitter wind was blowing, and fat flakes of snow were coming down fast. This was the first time for years that he could remember it snowing so close to Christmas. He pulled the zipper of his jacket up as high as it would go and set off down the street.

* * *

A clock somewhere struck five o’clock. It was dark now, and still snowing. He’d been wandering aimlessly all day, going into shops for the warmth every time the cold got too much for him. He was ravenously hungry, his feet were freezing and his leather jacket was heavy and sodden. The fifty pounds in his back pocket wouldn’t last very long, especially at city prices, and he didn’t even have enough for a cheap hotel room, but he would have to make it stretch. He counted the change in his jacket: five pounds twenty pence and, unable to bear the hunger and cold a minute longer, headed into a brightly-lit cafe. A cup of hot chocolate and a small sandwich cleaned him out. But at least it was warm in here. He ate the sandwich slowly and made the hot chocolate last a long time.

There must be places where homeless people could go to get a proper meal, or somewhere to sleep, but if there were he had no idea how to find them. He set off again, his shoulders slumped.

* * *

By nine o’clock that evening he was a block of ice. He could no longer feel his feet, and his blond hair was saturated. He came to a doorway in a block of closed shops – it would shelter him from the worst of the snow, and there were cardboard boxes lying about. He arranged them into a sort of sleeping bag, pulled his backpack under his head, and settled down for the night. The concrete was cold and hard, and he was shivering, but he closed his eyes, and after a long time he managed to get to sleep.


A big, unshaven guy in a tatty brown coat stood over him and kicked him again. “Gimme your bag,” he said.

Rob squinted up at him and shook his head. “Please – it’s all I’ve got.”

The guy reached down and pulled the backpack out from under him. “You ain’t got that now.” He kicked Rob again and walked off.

The loss of most of his possessions didn’t bother him that much, but Cameron had given him the leather cuffs and collar when he’d claimed him as his slave, and had taken him to a shop where together they’d got the name tag made. Those had been the only things he’d had left of the man he loved. Now all he had was what he was wearing. He checked his back pocket – at least his fifty pounds was still there. He took a deep breath and rubbed his bruised leg, then looked at his watch. 8:05am. What was he going to do? It was Christmas Eve. He stared unseeingly into the street for a long time, then his breathing became erratic, and he burst into quiet tears. Why was this happening to him? All he wanted was someone to love him. All he wanted was Cameron - he needed him so badly it hurt more than the cold and the kicking.

The sky was still grey but beginning to lighten, and at least the snow had stopped. It lay on the ground a few inches thick wherever it hadn’t been carved into dirty brown ruts by the early-morning traffic. Apart from the odd pedestrian and a few slowly-moving cars, the back street was deserted. And it was quiet. His stomach rumbled and he realised that he was desperately hungry. He had never been so hungry in his life. He was going to have to spend some of that fifty pounds on a decent meal. Wearily, he pulled himself to his feet and set off slowly in search of a cheap cafe, if such a thing existed.

The streets were coming to life – shops were opening and people were about. A half-hour’s trudge brought him to an intersection and he saw a cafe over the road advertising an all-you-can-eat fried breakfast for eight pounds. Perfect. Two guys passed him, one on either side of him, the one on the left bumping into him. He turned slightly. “Sorry mate.”

“No problem,” Rob smiled at the guy. “Happy Christmas.” He felt anything but happy.

He crossed the street and made for the cafe entrance, reaching into his back pocket for his fifty pounds. It had gone.

Frantically Rob searched every pocket, but the money wasn’t there. He leaned against a wall and slowly slid down to the ground. Now he had nothing. He couldn’t even get anything to eat. He sat on the pavement, his back against the wall, his head bowed, while feet walked uncaringly around him.

There was a sound of something hitting the ground by his side. He opened his eyes and saw a one-pound coin someone had thrown down for him. Now he was a beggar. He asked himself: how much lower could he go?

The pound, along with a remaining fifty-pence piece he found in his jacket, bought him a hot cup of tea. But he had nothing left at all now. He left the cafe and started walking back the way the bus had brought him. All he could think of doing now was to throw himself on Cameron’s mercy. Surely Cameron wouldn’t see him starve, or freeze to death? Would he? Actually, if he was honest, he was no longer sure about that.

It was a good three miles to the flat; he was exhausted, and the snow made the walking heavy and slow. It was freezing hard, the bitterly cold wind making his face burn, and Rob hadn’t got very far before he began shaking uncontrollably. He willed his legs to move, and leaned into the wind, dragging himself forward. All he could think of now was being with Cameron. Behind him he left small footprints in the snow. The roads here were deserted, and the buildings closed and locked for Christmas.

He saw a park ahead, with a bench seat sheltered by some trees and set next to a small lake. He began staggering towards it, but he didn’t make it. His legs stopped working altogether and he collapsed slowly to the ground. He lay in the snow, curled into a ball, his leather jacket, jeans and trainers saturated and freezing. Ducks at the edge of the lake took a disinterested look at the small shivering figure on the ground, then buried their heads back into their feathers.

He lay there, under the leaden sky.

* * *

After a long time he slowly realised that he was not so cold any more. In fact he was beginning to feel quite comfortable – warm, even. He smiled gently. The snow around him was soft and silky, and the quiet murmuring of the ducks was pleasant. He thought about Cameron, and the good times they had had. He loved Cameron so much. He closed his eyes, enveloped in a golden warmth.

* * *

He was in the pet shop with Cameron. They were laughing and smiling at each other as the machine engraved the word “ROB” noisily into the silver metal tag. Cameron clipped it onto the leather collar, and then - uncaringly, and in full view of everyone - made Rob kneel while he gently buckled the collar around the boy’s neck. “You’re my slave now, Rob,” he smiled, then lifted the boy up and kissed him gently.

* * *

“Ahhhh… Fuck YES!” Rob’s eyes were closed in pleasure as Cameron fucked him slowly and passionately. Rob was strapped to the restraint table in the big bedroom and could feel his lover’s leather jeans slapping against his bare thighs with each sroke.

“Fuck yes - what?” asked Cameron, grinning, out of breath.

“Fuck yes, SIR!” Rob said.


* * *

Rob was sitting on the floor between Cameron’s legs as they watched television. The man’s fingers were gently and lovingly stroking through his shaggy blond hair as Rob - his eyes closed - purred. It was one of the most beautiful things the boy had ever experienced. He was loved.

* * *

“Don’t cum. Don’t you fucking cum! I order you not to cum!”

Rob squeezed his eyes shut and tried to fight against the touch of Cameron’s hand on his horny cock. He must not cum. But the beautiful bastard was making sure he couldn’t stop himself. As the skillful, knowing fingers found all of the boy’s weaknesses and exploited them sadistically, Rob lost it. He came.

“I told you not to cum!”

“I know, Sir. I’m sorry Sir. But you know I can’t resist you.”

“Hmm. Well, I expect something special for dinner tonight.” He hugged the boy and kissed him for a long time.

* * *

“Happy Birthday, Rob.” Cameron handed him the large brown paper package at breakfast.

Rob excitedly tore it open and stared open-mouthed at the shiny black leather motorcycle jacket. He lifted it out and put it on. It fitted perfectly and went with his tight denim jeans brilliantly. “Oh thank you, Cameron. Thank y-” His words were smothered by kisses.

“You’re a very sexy little leather boy now. I love you, Rob.”

* * *

For a moment, the golden warmth vanished. In its place was cold grey snow, melted to icy water under him. Pain was everywhere. He tried to cough, and then tried to cry for help, but he could make no sound.

It was Christmas Eve. He was freezing, and he was a little slave boy, alone in the world. The only man he had ever loved didn’t want him any more, and he had nobody. The ducks had seen the little blond boy in the snow and were no longer interested.

Then the warmth returned. It made him happy. It felt so good not to hurt any more. It felt like being in Cameron’s arms. Slowly, the smile returned to his face.

This time the warmth didn’t go away.