Part One

I stood on the platform, under the spotlight and tried to make out the faces of the men and women who were currently bidding. I had always known that this day would come, but I wasn't truly prepared for the reality of the moment. Being trained to be a Personal Companion and actually being offered up on the auction block were two very different things entirely. I knew that this was where all those years of training were going to lead, but… I guess I never really let myself believe that my father would actually go through with selling his own son into slavery.

That's what personal companions are: slaves. Society may put pretty titles on the tradition in order to assuage their guilt and diminish their culpability, but the truth is that I was raised from the time I was seven years old to be a slave. I was taught every useful skill—everything from how to manage a household to how to give my master sexual pleasure—for ten years so that one day I could be put up for auction like a prized cow or an antique vase.

I vaguely recall a time before the training. I had a mother who loved me and doted on me. But she died in a car accident and life changed drastically after that. My father remarried and his new wife didn't like the idea of having me around, a reminder of his former life and competition for his money when he dies. Then I made the mistake of asking my father why I never saw two boys kissing on television and he was all too pleased to send me off for training as a personal companion, a PC. I went from being his beloved son Justin to being that worthless faggot boy in a heartbeat. I didn't even understand what was wrong with what I had asked; I was too young to understand about sex or sexuality or bigotry. But I was old enough to understand hatred and rejection.

Most PCs are carefully selected and recruited to go into the training programs. We are the best of the best. We are the smartest and most beautiful that money can buy. While I arrived at the training facility in an unusual manner—my stepmother was an old friend of one of the recruiters—I fit the criteria or else they wouldn't have accepted me. Most children are recruited between the ages of three and seven, so I made it just under the wire. They don't like taking children any older because it is more difficult for them to cut ties to their old life.

Once accepted to the training program, families were either paid a set fee or they retained a right to a percentage of the final sale price. If one could afford to wait for the auction, they could make a lot more money than they would if they accepted the dowry payment. As my father was rather wealthy, I knew that he had opted to wait for the bigger payoff. Sure it was a ten year investment, but the dowry was only a fraction of what the potential purchase price would be.

At the training center, the only contact we were allowed with the real world came through television and the internet, though even that was closely monitored. One of my peers was ejected from the training center for breaking the rules regarding online contacts. She befriended a boy on the outside and they had chatted online several times before she was caught. Personal companions aren't allowed to have relationships with anyone but our masters, our owners. Even friendships between trainee companions were strongly discouraged. She was sent away almost immediately, and since she had been sold to the center, her family was forced to repay the dowry they were given when she arrived. Rumor had it that she was not welcomed home by her angry parents and ended up on the streets, using the skills she had been taught in the center as a prostitute.

I know that if I had been expelled, my father would not have taken me back, so I believe there is truth to that rumor. But I made it through training and, days after my seventeenth birthday, was brought forward for auction.

Personal companions are not common. We are rare and we are expensive. Only the very wealthy can afford a PC. We are a status symbol. But no matter how rare and valuable we are, we are still nothing more than property, slaves bound to our owners and forced to provide for their needs, whatever they may be. There are laws to protect us, sure, but we are still nothing more than objects, pretty and functional, like a piece of art that will also do the laundry or give a blow job if you want it too. The blow job is more likely, though, since most owners have staff that is paid to take care of the more mundane chores.

I said that there are laws to protect us, and that is true. Unlike the slavery that was abolished during the Civil War, personal companions are protected by the same laws that oppress us. We are chattel and have no right to freedom. But we can only be sold once, and it must be between our 17th and 21st birthdays. I knew of a boy who had been scarred in a fire. He went to auction every month for four years and was never purchased. When he turned 21, they just set him loose. He was free. Of course, after more than ten years of training to be a slave, he had no idea how to survive in the world and we soon received word that he had committed suicide.

Once we are purchased, however, our owner cannot sell us. Legally. We can be gifted to another owner, but legally we are not to be sold again. It happens, of course, but usually in roundabout ways like under the table business deals. We aren't allowed to be rented out, but we can be asked to entertain our master's guests. We aren't whores, more like courtesans.

That night was my first auction. I'm not sure what I was looking for as I searched through the crowd of faces, but a part of me hoped that my father would be there to take me home, to say it was all a big mistake. Rationally, I knew it wouldn't happen, but…. Hope may be a useless emotion, but it is one that is difficult to overcome.

I knew that I would fetch a good price. I had been told over the years that between my looks, my skills in the bedroom, my intelligence and artistic gifts that there would be no way I wouldn't be snatched up right away. I don't say that out of conceit but because it was one of those things that I heard often enough over the years that I knew it to be the truth. The bidding began and I prayed that I would not be purchased by one of the female voices I could hear. I wasn't completely certain why the thought of being owned by a woman put me off, but it did. In fact my lessons on pleasuring a woman had always been much more difficult for me than those on pleasuring a man.

The opening price, standard for all personal companions, was soon doubled, and then tripled. I lost track after that. I know that even the auctioneer seemed surprised at how high the bidding went. I can admit to some sense of pride that I was so well sought.

And then the bidding was over and the auctioneer banged his gavel and I was ushered from the platform. I was not taken to my new master right away. We were compelled to wait until the financial transaction was complete. In fact, there were two others who had already been sold that night waiting in the side chamber with me. We were soon joined by one more. There were seven of us who were up for bid that night, so I must assume that three were sent back to the center un-purchased. I was glad I was not with them, and yet I was envious of them for having one more month of that familiar life.

When at last I was introduced to my new master, I didn't think much of him. He appeared to be in his late sixties and well dressed. He seemed pleasant enough but there was nothing about him that compelled me to love him or even like him. He wasn't good looking or ugly. He was just… there.

I followed him to the car and to my new life.

BJBJBJBJBJ

Living with James Marston wasn't bad. He treated me more like a pet than a servant. And sex with him was rather tame. He was one of those super rich men who liked to believe they are totally straight, but whose uptight wife would never dream of giving him head. So he bought me and I fulfilled the one duty his wife refused. In exchange, he gave me a small but comfortable room in the servants' wing and left me to my own devices. I was only trotted out when he wanted head or when he wanted to impress friends or business contacts with his wealth.

That was how I finally met Brian. I had been with Marston for two years at that point and was not surprised when he ordered me to come to his weekly poker game to entertain his guests. Like him, they were supposedly straight men who enjoyed receiving head from the pretty blond PC Marston had bought. I didn't really mind. I like giving head. The act of fellatio gives me a sense of power and control over my partner. It is a rare feeling to have in a life such as mine.

That evening, there was a new face among the familiar poker night attendees. Marston introduced him to his friends as Brian Kinney. He was in Chicago on business, attempting to woo Marston from his current advertising agency. Marston had invited him over for the game after a rather impressive presentation that day.

As soon as he walked through the door, I knew that I wanted that man to own me. It was one of the few times I allowed my training to fall away for a brief moment and make direct eye contact with a man not my master. He was beautiful, with a body like a Greek god and eyes that a man could drown in. He was intelligent and charismatic; he had those jaded business men eating from the palm of his hand within minutes and I would not be surprised to find out that they came to him within the weeks that followed to throw their business his way.

He was also a very good poker player, much better than any of the men in the room that night. I watched in fascination as he slowly routed each and every man there. And yet he did it in such a way that not one of them resented him for taking their money. And then Marston got a hand that he believed to be unbeatable and wanted to win something back.

"The rules state that you can only bet what you have brought with you to the table," Carl Green reminded Marston when he wanted to put an IOU into the pot. He just didn't have enough money to match Brian's bank at that point.

And then Marston's eyes turned to me where I was giving head to another of his friends who had already lost all his money to Brian. My eyes widened in surprise as I heard him say, "I'll put in the PC then."

Brian Kinney eyed me up and down as I knelt before this almost repellant man and I couldn't help but put my all into the task at hand. I wanted him to want me. I wanted him to accept the bet and win me. I don't know why, but there was just something about that man that called out to me.

The alcohol had been flowing freely, but I don't remember Brian drinking more than a couple bourbons, so I know he was sober as he was weighing his options. "Are you sure you want to do that, James?"

I knew that Brian didn't want to accept the bet. I wasn't sure if it was because he was afraid of pissing Marston off if he stole his prized pet from him or because he really didn't want me, but I know he wasn't given much choice in the end.

"I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't sure," Marston told him. "Win or lose, I don't welsh on bets. So, are you in or out?"

The undercurrent in the room was tense and even the man I had been blowing pulled away to go watch the exchange. I understood that to refuse the bet would be an insult and Brian knew it as well. "Alright," Brian finally said. "I'm in."

From there it was mere moments before they were laying down their cards. Marston had a full house, kings over threes. It was a great hand, but Brian had a full house as well, aces over sixes. He had won and I was in shock.

"Justin, go get your things together," Marston told me.

I very much wanted to stay and hear what the two men would say to each other, but I knew better than to disobey a direct order. I went to my room and began packing my clothes and art supplies. There wasn't much that I could call mine. In truth, nothing is actually mine, but there are things that were bought for my use and those were the things I packed into the backpack and duffle bag that I carried back to the den where Marston and Brian were waiting.

The other men had all gone by the time I returned. I was pleased to note that Marston was smiling good-naturedly and didn't look resentful over his loss. I wanted Brian to succeed and I knew that making an enemy of a man as powerful as James Marston could end a man's career. Brian seemed to realize this as well, because I could see relief behind his façade of good humor.

"You've been a good companion, Justin," Marston said as he patted my shoulder with fondness. "I'll miss having you around." Perhaps that was true, but I knew that there would be another PC to take my place soon enough, just as I had replaced the PC before me. Marston would soon forget about me because I was nothing more than a toy for his amusement.

"You have been a kind master," I replied with a small polite smile. "Thank you, sir, for everything you have done for me."

And with that, I followed Brian out the front door of Marston's mansion and to the waiting hired car.