Dr Debt and His New Bitch

This story is a fantasy set in the real world. Obviously, any similarities between characters appearing in it and the real world are purely coincidental. This is also copyrighted material. So while you're welcome to make a personal copy for yourself, any other reproduction or reposting is not allowed without the prior written consent of the author.

Any comments or criticisms should be directed to Rafi at rafidaud69@gmail.com. While suggestions are welcomed, the four chapters of this story are already written. I would, however, consider any suggestions in future stories.

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Dr. DEBT & HIS NEW BITCH

PART ONE

It seemed to be just what he was looking for:

"ARE YOU A YOUNG GUY JUST STARTING OUT, LOOKING FOR A WAY TO CRAWL OUT FROM UNDER A MOUNTAIN OF DEBT? GIVE Dr. DEBT A CALL AND LET HIM HELP YOU OUT."

Admittedly the advertisement was short on specifics but, figuring he had nothing to lose, Brady picked up his phone and gave the good doctor a call.

Brady had been bored waiting for Jen to get home from work. He was always bored when she had to pull the night shirt. And he was horny too. Brady was pretty much horny all the time, which wasn't that surprising given that he was twenty-five and at the height of his sexual prowess. He could get off two, three times every day and be none the worse for wear.

He had tried watching TV for a while but all that was on was a Bulls/Heat game. He'd watched for maybe half-an-hour, long enough to figure out that it was going to be another Miami victory. Restless, he had picked up the remote and turned it off.

He'd thought of going into the bedroom and rubbing one out. After a few moments thought, he reluctantly decided against it. Jen was always horny when she came home from working a night shift and Brady could bank on some good sex later that night. But, somehow, Brady could never quite figure out how, she could always tell if he'd masturbated before she got home. And it always pissed her off when he admitted she was right.

He'd tried to explain it was a guy thing, that guys just needed to get off more frequently than chicks, but she'd turn it around and accuse him of enjoying his hand more than her pussy. Which definitely wasn't true, by the way. Brady just loved Jen's pussy and she was the perfect sex partner. Almost as horny as he was and both inventive and attentive when they were going at it. All things considered, Brady figured he'd be better off if he just waited for Jen.

So Brady had pulled out his laptop. He was tempted to visit a few of his favorite porn sites but, since he was already so horny, that probably wouldn't be a real smart move. Instead, he decided to scan craigslist, hoping to find some quick way to make some easy money. God knows he could use it.

Brady had been employed at Macy's selling women's shoes for about three years. He made out all right on commissions, particularly during the holiday season, much more so than any of his co-workers. Of course, it didn't hurt that he was a strapping 6'2" with a great build and a wicked smile, which he didn't hesitate to use on any customer who seemed receptive to that type of sales-pitch. Hell, he'd even flirt with the occasional guy who came into the department either by himself or with a girlfriend.

Not that he was into the gay scene; Brady was strictly a lady's man. But he knew from his high school gym classes that he had the kind of looks that appealed to gayboys. It didn't bother him any, so long as they just looked. He knew he was good-looking and he was especially proud of his body - he'd spent long hours in the gym developing it - and it was nice to be appreciated, even if it was by other dudes.

But even though Brady made a decent salary, it never seemed to stretch far enough to cover all of his expenditures. Having Jen move in with him had helped for a while but, as time passed, he found himself sinking slowly but inexorably into increased debt. He'd tried to limit use of his Visa but there were some expenditures which just couldn't be avoided, like car repairs or his bi-annual visit to the dentist. Now, somehow, his credit card was carrying a debt of almost $10,000, which was his credit limit. Just making the monthly payment was beginning to be a stretch.

Brady knew he couldn't ask Jen for help. She was as strapped as he was and made an even smaller salary working at Len's Diner. Indeed, their precarious financial situation was beginning to lead to arguments and tensions that they had never experienced before. Brady figured that if there was just some way he could make a big score and get out from under his credit card debt, things would be a lot better. Better for him and better for Jen, too. But how to do it? And that's when he came upon Dr. Debt's advertisement in the local craigslist.

Brady could hear the phone ringing on the other end and then it was picked up. It was a gruff, deep voice that answered. Brady quickly explained that he had seen the ad on craigslist and, since he had a large debt he was struggling to pay, he wondered whether Dr. Debt would be able to help him out.

Brady was prepared for the first question posed by the man, who he assumed was Dr. Debt or at least worked for him. "Yes," he assured the man, "I am presently employed." The next question, however, surprised him.

"Are you on an smartphone?" the voice asked.

"Yes, I am," Brady immediately replied, wondering why the man cared.

"Do you have the thrutu app?" he next asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do," Brady replied, a little taken aback by the strange turn the conversation had taken. "Why?" he asked in response.

"Because I want you to take a selfie and send it to me," the man replied.

"Why would you want that?" Brady queried, wondering if he'd made a mistake in calling the number.

"Because I need to make sure I'm talking to a real person who needs my help and not some jackass who's just out to waste my time," the man quickly responded. "I figure that if you're serious about wanting my help, you won't object to sending me a picture since I'll be seeing you in person soon anyway. And if you're not, you'd probably just as soon not have me know what you look like once I realize you're just wasting my time."

While Brady was still somewhat disconcerted with the idea of sending his photo to a total stranger, he could see a certain logic in the man's argument. Besides, it wasn't like the guy was asking him to send a nude photo. Brady had a number of photos of himself on his Facebook page, a couple of which were far more revealing than the photo he'd be sending the guy on the phone. So he did what the man asked; he took a quick picture of himself and sent it on its way.

There was only a momentary pause on the other end of the line as the man checked out the photo. Then he was back on the line.

"I think I may be able to help you out, but before any decision can be made, we have to meet in person. That's a standard requirement I have before I help anyone out. We have to go over your finances and figure out an operational plan and I only do that face to face. So the next step is up to you. When can we meet?"

While Brady was surprised at how fast things seemed to be moving, he didn't hesitate. "I'm available almost any night for the next couple weeks since I'm scheduled for the day shift at Macy's until next month. I guess it depends on where you want to meet."

"We'll be meeting at your residence," the man immediately replied, "so you don't have to worry about getting there. I'll come to you. But the one condition I do insist upon is that we be alone for the initial meeting. Is that a problem?"

Once again, Brady found himself a little unsettled by the conversation. "Well," he responded, "I do live with my girlfriend but she works a couple of nights a week so I suppose I could arrange it for a night she won't be here. But why is that so important?" Brady knew he was asking a lot of questions but he wanted to make sure he wasn't getting himself into an awkward situation. He and Jen tried to be completely honest with each other and meeting with this guy under the circumstances he proposed seemed to be going behind her back.

But the man was smooth with his response. "The reason for that requirement is that, from past experience, I've found that prospective clients are much more forthcoming if there's no one else involved - particularly someone they have a relationship with. We'll be going over your finances in some detail and sometimes the details and extent of the debt can be embarrassing to honestly relate while a friend or a significant other is sitting there listening."

"Well," Brady replied, once again mollified, "I guess we could meet this Wednesday evening. Jen won't be home until after 10:00 p.m."

"That's fine," the man responded. "Just provide me with your address and we'll plan on meeting at 7:00 p.m. on Wednesday. The initial meeting seldom lasts longer than an hour, two hours tops."

Brady agreed and gave the man his address. The man repeated it to him to make sure he'd written it down correctly and then dropped a real bombshell. "One last thing. I'll be bringing along a camcorder to record our meeting. I just don't want you to be surprised when you see it."

That really set off alarm bells in Brady's brain. "I don't know if I'm comfortable with that," he informed the man. "Why do you need to record our meeting?"

Once again, the man had his answer ready. Obviously, he had heard the question before. "I record the meeting so that there's no misunderstanding about any agreement we may reach. I've learned the hard way that sometimes what I say is not necessarily what a client hears. The recording serves as a form of protection - both for me and for the client. If any question later arises as to what was discussed or what was agreed to, both parties can check the recording. I'll be happy to provide you with a copy before any agreement is finalized. Like I just said - it's for your protection as well as mine."

'Jesus,' Brady thought to himself, 'this guy has all the answers.' He was uncomfortable having their discussion video-taped, but he could see the man's point. Besides, it might be a good thing if he had his own record of their conversation in case any future dispute did arise. So, once again he found himself acquiescing to the man's conditions.

Having agreed to meet on Wednesday night, the man just terminated the conversation, gave Brady a curt, "See you on Wednesday," and hung up.

Brady just sat there looking at his phone for the next five minutes, vaguely unsettled by the entire conversation. He replayed it a number of times in his mind and each time he had to admit that the man's answers to his questions had seemed both forthcoming and reasonable, but he just couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Finally, though, he just put his phone down on the end-table. "I haven't agreed to anything,' he told himself, 'so it's stupid to sit here worrying. Hell, for all I know he might not be able to help me anyway.' He wandered into the bedroom and stretched out on the bed. He lay there for a few minutes thinking about the call he'd just made but eventually reached down and picked up a remote. 'Jen'll be home in an hour; I'll ask her what she thinks about it.' Then he turned the TV on and settled in for the second half of the Bulls/Heat game.

When Jen came in later that night, the TV was still on but Brady was snoring softly, his chin resting on his chest. She smiled to herself as she quietly made her way across the floor. She often found Brady like this when she came home from working the night-shift. Stepping out of her short heels, she proceeded to quickly disrobe, already feeling her juices beginning to flow. One thing she'd discovered over her time with Brady was that he was always horny when he woke up, regardless whether it was after a full night's sleep or a short ten-minute nap. And right now she was itching to get some, too.

"Hey, Brady," she softly cooed as she edged onto the bed. "I'm home." She was rewarded by the opening of one sleepy eye and then a sudden gleam of lust that flashed across it as it took in her naked form. Immediately, the other eye popped open and a mischievous grin flashed across Brady's face. "You're sure a sight for tired eyes," he said, and then, glancing down at his own crotch which was already visibly stirring, added, "and a hungry dick." She laughed as he reached for her. A minute later they were going at it, hot and heavy.

By the time morning rolled around, Brady had reconsidered his decision to ask Jen's advice about his meeting with Dr. Debt. He and Jen had always kept their finances separate which meant that any decision involving his debt issues didn't directly involve Jen. Besides, finances were the one area in which there'd been some recent tension between the two of them and there was no reason to stir things up when he hadn't even been offered a solid proposal on how he could resolve the problem of his Visa card debt. 'I'll wait until I have something concrete to tell her,' he told himself. And that's how he left it.

On Wednesday, Brady found it difficult to concentrate at work. His mind constantly fixated on the meeting he'd scheduled for that evening. He was alternately apprehensive and hopeful. Apprehensive because he just couldn't shake the feeling that there was something not quite right with what was going on but hopeful that Dr. Debt could show him some way to extract himself from the financial morass that was slowly sucking him under.

Arriving back at his apartment at 6:10 p.m., he took a quick shower and then dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a Polo shirt, even though all he normally wore around his place was a pair of shorts and a tank top. He wanted to present a picture of a young, responsible businessman, not a twenty-something slacker. He thought of adding a sports coat on top of his Polo shirt, but he concluded that that would be a little much, considering he was in his own apartment. He even practiced smiling in front of a mirror for a couple minutes, trying for just the look that he thought might convince Dr. Debt that he was someone who was worthy of assistance. He was sitting on the couch in his living room, nervously sipping on a bottle of water when, at precisely 7:00 p.m., he heard a knock on the door.

He quickly got up and headed towards the door, briefly glancing at himself in the long hallway mirror to make sure he looked presentable. And then he opened the door. Despite all his preparations, he heard a gasp of surprise escape his lips.

Somehow, for no particular reason and based solely on the man's voice over the phone, Brady had drawn a picture in his mind of Dr. Debt: a pudgy, shortish man, probably in his late fifties, with balding hair and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. The vision which greeted him when he opened the door, however, was nothing at all like that.

The guy standing in front of him was massive. At least 6'5" tall, he had to weigh close to 300 pounds. And while some of it was flab centered around the man's belly, the vast majority was clearly muscle. The man's chest was huge and the arms that descended from his shoulders looked more like howitzers than guns. While the man was wearing a suit, the fabric struggled to contain the bulging flesh within. He looked like a professional wrestler dressed up. The man was not only huge, he was obviously powerful.

Moreover, the face that was staring back at him was totally dissimilar to Brady's imaginings. It was a large face, matching the man's body. The hair on top was almost blue-black and closed cropped, and while the features were somewhat broad and fleshy and the man looked to be in his early forties, there was nothing soft or avuncular about him. It was the face of a man who knew the world as it was and was more than willing to do whatever it took to make his way in it. It was the face of the man who was used to getting his way.

As Brady stood there almost gaping at the man standing in front of him, the man made no effort to introduce himself. Instead he just stared back at Brady, a pair of cold grey eyes raking him up and down, seemingly appraising him as you would a prime piece of horse-flesh. The two men stood there looking at each other for a long minute before the man at the door broke the silence.

"I assumed you were expecting me, Brady," the man said, his face totally impassive. "Are you going to invite me in?"

Brady immediately recognized the deep gruff voice he'd heard over the phone. This was definitely the guy he'd talked to two days ago, even if he looked nothing like Brady had pictured. "Sorry," Brady replied. "Please come in," he added, stepping aside to let the man enter.

Without a word the man moved straight into the apartment, forcing Brady to edge even closer to the wall as he passed by. Brady turned to close the door and then turned back to face the man who had stopped a few feet away and was now facing him. Brady realized that he'd been thrown off his game plan by his unexpected surprise at how the man looked, but he tried to recover now by profferring his hand and flashing what he thought was his most-winning smile. "Hi, I'm Brady Armstrong."

The man just stood there, staring at him, making no move to grasp Brady's hand. It was an awkward moment until Brady, glancing down, realized for the first time that the man's right hand was holding a large leather briefcase while his left hand held the promised camcorder.

"Oh, sorry," Brady murmured, lowering his hand, acutely aware that he had now apologized to this man twice in the last fifteen seconds. Another awkward moment ensued as the two of them just stood there looking at each other. Realizing that the other man was not going to make this easy, Brady took the initiative to break the silence.

"Why don't we just go on in," he suggested.

Without so much as a curt nod, the man turned around and walked into the living room, Brady following close behind, unable to easily pass the man in the narrow hallway. Once they had both entered the living room, Brady drew alongside the man and gestured towards the couch. "I thought we could both sit there."

The man seemingly ignored him, instead looking around the room. After a few moments, he headed off in the other direction. "We'll use the dining room table," he announced.

The man walked into the small dining area and placed his briefcase on the chair at one end of the table. "You'll sit there," he informed Brady, pointing to a chair at the side of the table next to the chair the man had already appropriated. Without even glancing back at Brady, he then proceeded to go to the opposite end of the table and begin fiddling with the camcorder he'd brought.

Brady found himself nonplussed by the man's brusque manner and he could feel himself getting angry. 'Fuck, man,' he thought. 'This is my fucking apartment. He should show me some respect.' But Brady quickly reminded himself that he needed this guy's help. He didn't have to like this guy - he just needed the man to help him deal with his debt problem. After that, the guy could drop dead for all he cared. So he tamped down his growing irritation and decided to follow the man's instructions. He pulled out the chair that the man had pointed to and sat down.

He had been sitting there for a couple of minutes in silence while the man adjusted the camcorder, when Brady finally decided to try to restore some semblance of amicability to the relationship that was developing. "We've never been formally introduced," he began. "Like I mentioned at the door, I'm Brady Armstrong. You can call me Brady." And then he waited for the man's response.

Brady waited almost a full minute before he realized that man had no intention of responding. Feeling himself getting angry all over again, Brady pressed on. "What should I call you?"

This last question finally elicited an answer from the man. Without even looking up, the man replied, "You can call me Dr. Debt...or just 'Sir,'" he added, after a pause. This really ticked Brady off and he was just about to cancel the whole meeting when the man looked up and said, "The camcorder's on. Let's get down to business." He came back to the end of the table, picked up his briefcase from the chair, placed it on the table, and sat down.

The man pulled out a large sheaf of papers and then turned back to him. "So, why don't you explain your problem, Brady," he said.

"Well," Brady began, suppressing his unhappiness at the way he'd been treated so far, "I've got a huge credit card debt, almost $10,000, that I could sure use some help with."

The man fixed Brady with a hard stare - and then the interrogation began. The first twenty minutes of their conversation consisted of a detailed exploration into Brady's personal life. Brady could understand why they man was interested in his exact date of birth and his social security number (even though he was edgy about providing that piece of information). After all, he was asking for financial assistance. But the questions relating to the schools he'd attended, the sports he'd participated in, who he deemed to be his closest friends, all of those seemed pretty far afield.

Early on, when Brady objected to the scope of some of these inquiries, the man calmly looked him in the eye and told him that his business was ultimately based on trust. "You're asking me to help you out with a large financial obligation and doing so will probably require me to apply my own resources to your benefit. I'm unwilling to commit those resources to people I know nothing about. The answers to the questions I'm posing will help me decide if you're the type of individual I can trust. But the trust has to be mutual. If you feel you can't trust me with the information I desire, then it's probably better if we terminate the process right now. It's up to you, Brady."

It was obvious that the man was going to be adamant on this point and that if Brady didn't provide the information requested the man would just get up and leave. So Brady swallowed his misgivings and told the man everything he wanted to know.

But if the foray into his personal life was unsettling, Brady found himself even more disconcerted when the conversation finally turned to his financial situation. Using a calculator and a yellow pad - 'pretty old-school,' Brady thought - the man was able to establish that Brady averaged roughly $15 per hour and worked an average of 37 hours a week. That came out to a gross of $555 per week or $28,860 a year. That seemed like a lot of money to Brady and he began to feel somewhat better about his situation.

But then the man noted, "That, of course, is what you gross. It's not what you take home. If we figure in social security deductions and assume an effective federal tax rate of ten percent and an effective state tax rate of four percent, your annual take-home pay is roughly $23,000 a year. That means your average monthly take-home income is $1,916." That still seemed a pretty decent amount of money to Brady, but then the man started comparing that income to Brady's monthly expenditures.

Rent, alone, pretty much took care of half of his income. And then there was insurance, both for health care and for his car, the latter of which was not insubstantial given Brady's spotty driving record. The expenditures kept mounting as food, his gym membership, parking fees at work, and moderate entertainment costs were factored in. By the time everything was added up, Brady was spending 14 dollars more every month than he was taking in.

"Overall," the man said, fixing him with his steely stare, "it's not too bad. You could easily make up the difference by skipping a couple of movies every month. But there's no room for any extraordinary expenditures, like medical emergencies or car accidents."

"But I have car insurance and health insurance, sir," Brady pointed out. Brady had found himself beginning to address the man as 'sir' early in the interview and by this point it seemed entirely natural.

"Yes, Brady," the man replied. "You have insurance, but they both have large deductibles and paying those deductibles would easily put you in the red. Now you look to be in pretty good health and I'm sure with the insurance premiums you already have to pay on your car you now drive pretty carefully. You could go two, three years without any problems cropping up. But, if they did, you'd be in a real financial bind."

"But your lack of a small financial cushion isn't the crux of your problem," the man continued. "The one item we haven't accounted for is your credit card debt, which you tell me is just under $10,000. At your present annual interest rate of twelve percent, that works out to a monthly interest payment of $100. Your credit card company also requires a minimum payment of three percent of the amount owed. In your case that adds an additional $300 to your required monthly payment. That's a total of $400 every month - four hundred dollars that you don't have.

"As things stand right now, your financial outlook is pretty grim, Brady. You might be able to cobble together enough money by delaying paying other bills for a couple of months, but inevitably - and soon - you're going to find yourself in the position of not being able to make a monthly payment on your Visa. Once that happens, your financial situation will rapidly deteriorate.

"Since you've basically maxed out your card, failure to meet just one payment will push you over your credit limit. You can be sure that almost immediately Capital One will suspend your card privileges and raise your annual interest rate to thirty percent. That means that your interest obligations alone will then be in excess of $250 a month. Assuming you can't reach a financial arrangement with Capital One, which is unlikely since there is virtually no possible way you can even make the interest payments given your present income, Capital One will go to court to obtain a judgment against you. And when they do, they will add in not only the amount you borrowed and all the interest which has accrued, but also the court costs associated with proceeding against you and their own lawyers' fees. You're looking at a judgment that's likely to be in excess of $15,000 when all is said and done."

"Holy shit!" Brady exclaimed at this point.

But the man wasn't done. "Once they've obtained a court judgment, they'll come back to you with a demand for payment. Since there's no way you could come up with that type of money, they'll then go back to court to obtain an order garnishing your wages. Given your income, the most they can garnish is twenty-five percent, but that means your take-home pay will decline to $1,437 per month. There's virtually no way you could stay in your present apartment given your other expenses. You would definitely have to move."

Brady looked around the apartment. He loved his place. He'd lived there almost five years and he really didn't want to move. He looked back at the man. "Isn't there something I can do?" he asked. "Like getting some type of loan consolidation with a lower interest rate?"

The man's eyes didn't even blink. "Brady, all your debt is pretty much consolidated already in one credit card. And, to be perfectly honest with you, I'm surprised your interest rate is as low as it is right now. Besides, any prospective lender would go through the same analysis I just went through and discover there's no realistic way that you can pay off your debt. They wouldn't give you a loan at any rate."

Brady could feel his heart palpitating in his chest. This whole meeting was going so much worse than he had anticipated. "What about filing for bankruptcy? Could I do that?"

"You could do that, Brady," the man agreed. "After all, you're basically bankrupt right now - your assets don't meet your liabilities. But there're a number of downsides to taking that route. Not the least being that once your landlord hears you've gone through a bankruptcy, he'll be unlikely to renew your lease."

"He can do that?" Brady inquired.

"Sure he can," the man replied. "He can't terminate your present lease just because you've been through bankruptcy but nothing prevents him from declining to renew it once its term has run. He'd probably decide you were a poor credit risk and decide not to renew."

"So what you're telling me," Brady concluded, "is that no matter what I do I'm going to lose my apartment."

"I'm afraid so," the man agreed. "Applying conventional lending standards, there's simply no way for you to hold on to it."

Hearing that pronouncement, Brady collapsed into the chair, his mind reeling. He happened to glance at the wall clock. It was only 7:45 p.m. In only forty-five minutes all his hopes had come crashing down. 'Goddamnit,' he thought. 'There has to be something I can do.' Losing his apartment was the one thing he'd wanted to avoid at any cost but the man in front of him seemed to be saying that it was the one thing that was sure to happen. He knew it was irrational but he felt himself resenting the man who'd brought him the bad news, sitting there all calm and serene. It was almost as if he'd enjoyed pointing out to Brady just how hopeless his situation was. Despite himself, he couldn't help lashing out at him.

"But your ad said you could help me out," Brady angrily complained. "All you've done is show me how completely fucked I am."

The man looked at him, his face a mask of total indifference. "Oh, I could help you out," he replied, his eyes fixed on Brady's face. "I could help you out."

"You'd lend me the money?" Brady asked, hope suddenly flickering to life. "You'd lend me the money?"

"No, I wouldn't lend you the money, Brady," he immediately replied. "You're a terrible credit risk. No one in his right mind would lend you money."

Now Brady was really angry. "What the fuck's going on? First you say you can help me out and then you say that you won't lend me any money. In fact, you say that someone would have to be crazy to lend me money. How the fuck can you help me out if you won't lend me any money? That's crap."

The man sat there impassively during Brady's little diatribe. It was almost as if he had expected it. And then, when Brady finally shut up and sank back in his chair with a scowl on his face, the man spoke again. "I won't lend you the money Brady," he said, "but I could give it to you. I could give you a sum, let's say $12,000, sufficient to not only pay off your Visa bill but give you a little cushion for the future."

Brady's face was immediately suffused with incredulity. "You tell me you won't lend me any money because I'm a poor credit risk, but then you say you'll just give me $12,000. Why? Because you like me? Because we're such good buddies? That's just bullshit, man. You're not going to give me the money. You're just yanking my chain."

For the first time since he'd been there, a slight smile played on the man's lips. "You're right to skeptical, Brady. Why would I just give you, a total stranger, $12,000? Obviously, I'd want something back in exchange for my money."

Brady's eyes narrowed. He was sure the man won't just give him the money, without any strings attached. But he could believe the man might give him the money if he got something out of it. "Just what would you want in exchange for your $12,000?" he warily asked.

"It's very simple," the man replied. "I want you to become my bitch."

"What do you mean," Brady exploded, "you want me to become your bitch?"

"Oh, I think you know what I mean, Brady," the man answered, now openly smirking.

Brady's face turned crimson as he sputtered in barely controlled rage, "You gotta be out of your fucking mind if you think I'm going to become your bitch? I'm not into guys and I'm sure as hell not into you. There's no fucking way I'm going to become your bitch for a measly $12,000. I think it's time for you to go."

The man just sat there, making no move to leave. Brady stood up. "I said it's time for you to go. Pack up your shit and get out of my apartment."

The man stared up at Brady. "Sit down, boy," he suddenly ordered, his voice taking on a menacing, authoritarian tone. "Sit your ass back down." He focused an icy stare at the boy. Brady wavered for a moment and then sat back down.

The man turned in his chair so that he was looking straight in Brady's face. "I'll leave, boy," he began, his voice retaining its dominating caste, "I'll leave when I'm good and ready to leave. So you just keep your ass in that chair until I tell you you can stand up."

"Now, I'm going to explain just exactly how my offer will work and you're going to sit there and listen to me. But first, I want to make something clear to you." And with that, the man's hand flashed out and delivered a stinging slap to Brady's face. "Don't you ever, ever, take that tone of voice with me. I'm not one of your punk friends you can bully and threaten. I'm a man who deserves respect and you will give me that respect at all times. Do you understand, boy."

Brady sat there looking at the man, his complete shock obvious, even as his left cheek began to redden from the impact of the slap.

"I asked you a question, boy," the man growled. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," Brady quietly replied, totally intimidated.

"Yes, what, boy?" the man pressed.

Brady gave the man a look that disclosed his total confusion. The man leaned in towards Brady. "It's 'yes, sir,'" he informed him, emphasizing the 'sir.' "It's always yes 'sir' or no 'sir.' You show me the respect I deserve. So let's try it again. Do you understand, boy?"

"Yes, sir," Brady meekly replied. He wanted this man out of his apartment, but now he was really scared. He didn't have the slightest doubt that this guy could break him in two if he wanted and, given the recent turn in the conversation, he realized that the man might be more than willing to do just that if provoked.

"Fine," the man said, his demeanor softening ever so slightly. "Now that we've established the ground rules of our relationship, let me lay out the proposal I'm offering you.

"I'm willing to give you $12,000 in exchange for you becoming my bitch, to use as I see fit. But I certainly don't expect you to agree that you'll sexually service me for the rest of your life for 'a measly $12,000,' as you put it. No sane person would agree to that type of arrangement. My proposal is actually for a much more limited duration. What I expect is that for each $2,000 I give you, you will agree to spend one hour of your time servicing me. For the total $12,000, that comes out to six hours. I think that I'm offering you a more than equitable deal.

"Now, you've told me that you're not gay and you've made it clear that you do not find me attractive. But those points are irrelevant. Tell me, boy, do you like selling shoes at Macy's?"

Realizing that the man expected an answer, Brady hesitantly replied, "It's a living."

"Yes, boy, it's how you make your living. But do you actually enjoy doing it?" the man pressed.

"No, not really," Brady admitted. "Sir," he added as an afterthought.

"Yet you do it for a mere $15 an hour. I'm offering you an opportunity to make $2,000 an hour."

"But it's not the same. I'm only working there. For you....I mean I'd have to let you fuck me. That's a lot different."

"How often do you fuck your girlfriend, boy?"

"A lot. Every day, I guess....sir."

"And how much does she charge you when you fuck her."

"Nothing. We do it because we both enjoy it."

"So she lets you fuck her for free because she enjoys it. And I want to fuck you but you're sure you won't enjoy it. So to compensate you for that I'm offering you $2,000 for each hour that I fuck you. Seems pretty fair to me."

"But if I take money for letting you fuck me, sir, that would make me a whore."

"So, what," the man replied with scorn. "Everybody's a whore. The lawyer who uses his legal training to help some lowlife criminal beat a rap, the scientist who'll work for anyone as long as they fund his research, the politician who'll support legislation simply because that's what his big-money contributors want, they're all whores. They're all whoring out their skills. The only difference is instead of selling your mind you're selling your body."

"Face facts, boy," the man continued, "you're whoring yourself out right now at Macy's for a measly $15 an hour. You're already a fucking prostitute. I'm just offering you a chance to make some real money for a change. For a mere six hours of your life, I'm offering you $12,000, enough money to enable you to climb out of the hole you've dug yourself into. Six fucking hours is all that it would take for you to keep living the life you enjoy. It's up to you. Do we have a deal, boy?"

Brady was sitting in his chair, his mind reeling. He didn't like the man in front of him, he was definitely intimidated by him, and he certainly wasn't physically attracted to him. But what he was saying made a lot of sense to Brady. He wasn't into guys, but so what. He wasn't into ugly women either, but for $2,000 he'd be willing to fuck one. Sure he wasn't going to enjoy having this guy fuck him, but after it was all over, he'd have $12,000. It would take him more than half a year at Macy's to make that much. He had completely recoiled at the concept of serving as this guy's bitch when it was first proposed, but now he was giving it serious consideration. It would solve all of his problems. But he wanted to know exactly what he was getting himself into.

"Just what would I have to do, sir, if I agreed to your offer. I mean, besides letting you fuck me."

The man allowed himself to grin. Just by the question, he knew he had the boy hooked. "You'd have to do whatever I want to do. You'd be my bitch and bitches do what they're told. I like my sex on the rough side. So you can expect to be batted around. I'll certainly spank that pretty ass of yours, probably a number of times. You'll suck my dick. And I'll fuck your brains out and, seeing as you're a virgin, it's going to hurt, that I can guarantee. You'll just have to suck it up. The bottom line is how I use you, how I use your body, will be totally up to me. But I won't leave any permanent marks on you, that I promise. And no scat and no animals. But, other than that, anything goes. And just so you know, I'll be filming our session together, too."

Seeing the look of consternation on Brady face, the man added, "Don't worry, boy. I have no intention of posting our session on the internet. It's just that I like to keep a little remembrance of the time I spend with every one of the boys I help out. I don't think that's too much to ask for $12,000."

"That's the deal," the man concluded. "Whether or not you accept it is up to you."

Brady sat back in his chair again, trying to make up his mind. On the one hand, letting this guy fuck him would be so gross. On the other, it was only for six hours and, after that, he wouldn't have to ever see the man again. And no one would ever have to know what he done, how he'd made the money.

"Where would our....sessions, take place, sir?" Brady asked, stumbling over the proper term to use to describe what he was about to agree to.

"Right here, in your apartment," the man explained. "But there won't be multiple 'sessions' as you put it. I'm a busy man and I find it difficult to schedule multiple meetings with my clients. It'll be a single six-hour 'session' between us. I assume you'll want to arrange it for a time when your girlfriend will not be present - though if you'd like her, I think you said her name was Jen, if you'd like Jen to watch me fuck you, that'd be fine with me."

Just the thought of Jen watching him having sex with this man was enough to make Brady blush furiously. "No. No," he quickly demurred. "I definitely don't want that."

There was an extended period of silence as Brady considered his options. Finally, the man spoke up. "Well, what's it going to be, boy? Are you going to accept my offer or not?"

Brady looked up, swallowed hard, and answered in a cracking voice, "Yes, sir. I will accept your offer. But scheduling might be difficult."

The man began shuffling his papers together and stuffing them into his briefcase. "You let me know when you've decided on a date and we'll work out a suitable time that fits both of our schedules. Just make sure it's in the next two weeks." With that, the man stood up and moved to the opposite end of the table to collect his camcorder.

"One last thing, boy," he said, as he picked up the camcorder and prepared to leave. "Once we settle on a day and time, there's a couple of things you'll have to do. The morning we're scheduled to meet, I want you to go into your shower and shave your body - all of it - below the neck. And then you need to give yourself an enema - you can use a Fleet enema if you don't have a slur-shot available."

These last conditions rattled Brady. "Why?" he blurted out. "Why do I have to shave my body?"

"Because, boy," the man replied, lapsing backing into his authoritarian voice, "I like my bitches smooth and hairless. And," he continued, "when I tell you I want all of your body shaved, I mean all of it, not just your pubes. You're to shave everything - your pits, your arms, your legs, everything. And I don't want to feel the hint of stubble anyplace on your body. Do you understand, boy?"

Squirming beneath the man's unrelenting stare, Brady mumbled a "yes, sir."

"And, now that I think about it," the man added, "plan on giving yourself two enemas. One in the morning and one just before I arrive. I don't want any of your anal crud on my cock after I've finished fucking you. Got that, boy?"

"Yes, sir," Brady responded, this time not even meeting the man's gaze.

"Fine," the man replied. "Well, I'm out of here. No need to show me to the door, boy. I know the way." And with that, he left Brady sitting on the dining room chair.

Brady remained in that chair for the next hour, reviewing his options, wondering whether he should go through with what he had agreed to. But the more he thought about it, the more he felt himself resigned to going through with it. There just didn't seem to be any other way to get himself out of his financial bind.

And, the more he thought about it the better he felt that he faced only a single six-hour session with Dr. Debt. The man scared him and the sooner he could get him out of his life the better Brady would feel. Far better to have a single long session, painful as it might be, than to face a succession of one-hour sessions that might stretch out over a month.

But Brady also realized that scheduling a six-hour session was going to be dicey, particularly figuring the time it would take to shave himself in the morning. He wasn't that hairy to begin with but shaving his whole body was going to take a lot of time and it wasn't something he wanted to do while Jen was still there. Obviously, he'd have to supply some explanation for the denuded state of his body, to say nothing of any bruises his session with Dr. Debt left, but he knew he'd feel a lot more comfortable dissembling after the fact, when the whole ordeal was behind him, then he would facing Jen before his meeting with the man. Arranging matters so that Jen stayed in the dark was going to be tricky. That was something he was going to have to work on.

He still hadn't formulated a viable plan when fate intervened. Two days after his meeting with Dr. Debt, Jen got a call from a hospital in Yreka, California. Her mother had fallen and broken her right leg. There was a multiple fracture and her mom was in considerable pain. They could, of course, treat the pain with analgesics but they were reluctant to release her given her advance age (78) and the fact that she lived alone. Jen told them that she'd get there as soon as possible. She left the next morning and wasn't returning until the following Monday.

Brady called Dr. Debt pretty much as soon as Jen was out the door. They agreed upon meeting on Friday evening, beginning at 5:00 p.m. Brady would have preferred a later start but Dr. Debt insisted that he wanted to be home by midnight and Brady had no option but to accede to his demand. Just before he hung up, Dr. Debt informed Brady that he expected to see him naked and fully erect when he opened the door to his apartment to let Dr. Debt in. Tamping down his irritation at this unexpected additional humiliation, Brady agreed that he would be nude and hard when he opened his front door.

That Thursday night Brady, bedeviled by lurid imaginings of what he was facing the next day, tossed and turned in his bed, finding it virtually impossible to sleep. By the time he crawled out of bed, around 5:00 a.m., to begin his preparations, he felt more exhausted than he had when he'd slid under the sheets seven hours earlier.

He started off with a quick shower and then, without drying off, he began the long process of shaving his body. For no particular reason other than the fact that he was right-handed and it was easy to reach, he started with his left arm. Aided by a liberal slavering of shaving cream, the blade seemed to skim down his arm. After each swipe, he'd hold the blade under the shower, which he kept running, and watch as his freshly-sheared hair cascaded into the tub and down the drain. Next was his right arm, which was a little more difficult since it required him to hold the razor in his left hand. But in relatively short order, his right arm was as hairless as his left. Then he moved on to his armpits.

As he moved the blade down his body, denuding next his chest and then his stomach before skipping his crotch area and moving on down to his legs, Brady began to realize just how embarrassing it was going to be to have other people see him in a totally shaven state. But it was only when he moved back up to his crotch and began slicing away at his pubic bush that the full import of what he was doing hit home. He had been eleven when the first sprinklings of hair had appeared above his cock and he could remember how proud he felt at the time - he was growing up, he was becoming a man. Now, shaving those hairs off, he couldn't help but feel that he was somehow regressing, lapsing back to the pre-pubescent stage of his life when everyone saw him as not a man, not even an adolescent, but as just a mere boy.

Brady had noticed that during his meeting with Dr. Debt the man had stopped calling him 'Brady' and started calling him 'boy' almost simultaneously with the disclosure that he would give Brady the $12,000 if he'd agreed to be the man's bitch. He had resented it at the time, even though he didn't say anything. After all, it's pretty demeaning for a twenty-five-year-old man to sit there and hear himself addressed as a "boy." But looking down at his crotch as the razor finished its job, Brady couldn't help realizing that he now looked like a 'boy.' His denuded cock and balls were fully mature and, if anything, looked bigger than they normally did, but that actually seemed to emphasize the total absence of pubic hair. Visualizing himself standing in the doorway in front of Dr. Debt naked, hard, and hairless, he realized he would look like a 'boy' just as the man had dismissively addressed him during their meeting. He could feel himself blushing merely thinking about it.

Brady tried to force that image from his head as he turned to shaving what he knew was going to be the most difficult parts - his buttocks and his ass-crack. He could ignore his back because it was naturally hairless, but his ass had a light sheen of soft brown hair coating it, starting just below his waist. The main problem, of course, was that he couldn't see all of his ass and as the round, muscular mounds dove in towards his anus he had to rely on the sense of feel to make sure he'd shaved everything.

Brady tried to be as methodical as he could be and worked backwards from his thighs on both sides of his body, trying to make sure that each successive swipe of the razor overlapped the previous one. But as the razor approached his anus he found himself growing increasingly cautious. He didn't want to inadvertently cut the sensitive skin there, particularly since it was likely to be the focal point of the evening's activities. But he didn't want to leave any hair there, either, since that was one place where Dr. Debt would be sure to notice it. He decide he had to be able to see what he was doing if he was going to be certain that he'd remove all the hair from around his hole.

He turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. The mirror in the bathroom had totally clouded up during his shower so Brady grabbed a towel and wiped it off. Brady moved as far in front of the mirror as he could get, which wasn't that far considering the limited confines of his bathroom, but while he could see his ass-cheeks in the mirror when he was standing straight up, every time he bent down to actually beginning shaving his ass-crack, they would no longer be within his range of vision. He realized he needed a full-length mirror if he wanted to see his asshole while he was shaving it. The only full-length mirror in the entire apartment was in the entryway.

So he dried himself off, leaving only his ass still wet, and then quietly padded through the apartment to the front door, self-consciously aware that he'd be making the same naked trek again later that day. The hallway was dark so he turned on the light and then turned to face the mirror. Despite himself, he stood there transfixed by the sight that met his eyes. He had realized he now looked like a boy when he had finished denuding his crotch. But even that realization had not fully prepared him for seeing himself as others would.

The image that faced him in the mirror was profoundly unsettling, seemingly composed of two contradictory elements. On the one hand you saw a tall adult male with strikingly handsome facial features including an unruly mop of light-brown hair set atop a torso fairly rippling with muscles. It was a face and body that exuded masculinity and maturity. But then, as your gaze descended, you came to a completely bare abdomen, as hairless as you'd expect on a ten-year old boy and, while a fully developed penis and a good-sized pair of testicles descended from the smooth groin, they were bracketed by a pair of thighs so clean and sleek that, were they not packed with muscles, you might think they belonged to a model for a feminine hygiene product.

This jumble of contrasting elements, the masculine with the feminine, the mature with the immature, somehow combined to create a picture that was simultaneously erotic and perverse. Brady had never doubted his essential masculinity before, nor did he believe he gave his friends any reason to doubt it either. But seeing himself in the mirror, seeing how he looked with his body completely shaven, he instinctively knew that any friend who saw him now would certainly wonder as to just what type of man he really was.

Staring at his reflection in the glass, Brady tried to tell himself that he was overreacting, that lots of men shaved their bodies, swimmers and body-builders among them. But Brady knew he was kidding himself. He remembered all too well the way his high school buddies would react when someone pointed out a fellow student and say, "he's on the swim team." There'd be stifled chuckles and raised eyebrows and smirks all around. Swimmers might be athletic, but they shaved their pubes and wore skin-tight swimming outfits that left literally nothing to anyone's imagination. Sure, they might have a well-toned body and affect a masculine manner, but everybody knew what type of guy really went out for the swim team.

And as far as body-builders were concerned, they weren't fooling anyone. All those big muscles were just either overcompensation for a small dick or an attempt to camouflage an attraction to other men. Everybody knew that, too. Even though he was pretty much of a gym-junkie, Brady quickly realized that there was no way he'd be stepping back into a public shower until his pubes had grown back. No fucking way.

Brady continued to stare at his image for another minute before he finally just told himself to get a grip. 'You need to get to work and before that you need to make sure your ass-crack is shaved. Just do it. You don't have to like it but you need to get it done. Don't be such a wuss.' With that, he managed to finally pull his eyes away from his crotch and turn around. This time, when he bent down and looked back in the mirror, he had a clear view of his entire crack and could see the areas that needed shaving.

Brady stretched his arm behind him and carefully worked the razor till he had removed all the visible hairs. He then reached back with his left hand and slowly ran it all around his anus. It was smooth and hair-free. But, just as he was about to withdraw his hand he came to sudden stop. It was with something of a shock that he realized that, until this moment, he had never really clearly viewed his own ass-hole. Looking at it now, puckered and tightly closed, it was hard to believe that it could ever stretch far enough to accommodate a man's hard cock. Hell, even a finger stuck up his hole might be painful. His index finger was hovering right above his anal opening and he lowered it so it was actually touching his anal rosette. He was just about to push it on through when he caught himself.

'Dammit,' he thought, 'it's bad enough I'm going to let that gross asshole fuck me, but I'll be goddamned if I'm going to start finger-fucking myself. That'd be really sick." Abruptly, he removed his hand from his ass and stood up. He took one last look at himself in the mirror, trying to fight the urge to cringe, flipped off the light and headed back to the bathroom. He happened to glance over at the wall clock as he walked through the living room and was brought up short. It was almost 8:00 a.m. How the hell could it be that late? Christ, he had to be at work in an hour and he hadn't even given himself the enema yet. Cursing a blue streak, he hurried to the bathroom. There was no fucking way he was going to make it to work on time and being late on today of all days was the last thing he had wanted to have happen.

Nine hours later, Brady was nervously fidgeting in the hallway. Once again he was naked but this time his seven-inch dick was standing rigidly at attention, as ordered. It had been a rotten day already and things figured to get even worse in just a few minutes. He had caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror when he'd first walked back into the hallway after stripping off his clothes in the bedroom. If anything, his hard-on seemed to make the image he projected even more perverse. He quickly averted his gaze and from that point on he studiously avoided looking at the mirror.

He could feel his heart racing in his chest as the final minutes ticked off. When the expected knock finally came he actually felt his body beginning to shake. He didn't think he had ever been so nervous about anything in his life. Trying to calm himself, he took two deep breaths and then reached out and opened the door, backing up as he did so. Standing just on the other side was Dr. Debt.

But the man made no move to enter Brady's apartment. Instead, with the demanding voice Brady had heard during their first meeting, he gave Brady an order. "Step into the light, boy. Step into the light so I can see you."

Blushing furiously, Brady took five steps forward, agonizingly aware that his naked body was now fully visible to anyone passing by his apartment door. The man stood there for a moment, his eyes raking over Brady, taking in the boy's denuded physique. A slow smile blossomed on his face - he had been right, the kid had a dynamite body. He let the boy stand there for a few moments longer until his nervous sweat had given his body a noticeable sheen, and then he told the boy to step back. Gratefully, Brady moved back out of the ambit of the hallway lights and stood waiting expectantly inside. With only a momentary hesitation, Dr. Debt followed him in.

Once inside the apartment, the first thing the man did was place the briefcase he held in his right hand on the entryway table in the corner. Next, he put the camcorder from his left hand on the floor, reached out and flicked on the light before closing the door behind him. Then he turned to face Brady. "Come here, boy," he ordered. "Let me get a good look at you."

Trying hard not to show any of the fear he felt, Brady stepped forward again, feeling a sense of intimidation as Dr. Debt's massive body loomed over him. Without saying a word, the man reached out and took the boy's cock and balls in one of his huge hands and gave them a hard squeeze. Brady instinctively recoiled. No man had ever fondled him before and Brady didn't particularly enjoy the sensation. Any effort to back away, however, was immediately forestalled as Dr. Debt's other arm snaked around Brady's waist and drew him even closer to the man until scarcely an inch separated their bodies. Even as Dr. Debt continued to rub and stroke Brady's genitals, his other hand moved down from the boy's back, grabbed his ass-cheeks and began forcefully kneading them.

Brady gasped in surprise and pain as two sharp swats were suddenly administered to his butt and then reflexively moaned as they were immediately followed by a large finger thrust into his ass-crack. The finger probed and prodded as it made its way up and down the fissure separating his buns, lingering a long time over his puckered rosette until, without any warning, the finger bore down and began to force its way up his hole. Brady groaned aloud as the huge digit bulled its way into him, causing him to lean against Dr. Debt's massive body in a futile attempt to escape the assault. He could feel the muscles in the man's chest flexing as the man thrust his finger further up the narrow passage and Brady had to bite down on his lower lip to keep from screaming.

The man moved his finger in and out of Brady's hole for a few minutes, all the while continuing to grope and fondle Brady's genitals with his other hand. When Dr. Debt began flexing the finger inside of Brady, another gasp escaped the boy's mouth. His pained reaction elicited an audible chuckle from Dr. Debt and it was only then that Brady cast his eyes up to the man's face.

The amusement which he saw in the man's grey eyes was echoed by the smile that played below them. Brady realized that while he might not be enjoying these opening moments of the night's activities, the good doctor certainly was. Brady's assessment was confirmed moments later when Dr. Debt began speaking again.

"You have one fine body, boy," he informed Brady. "I'm going to have a great time getting to know it. And," he added with a leer, "I'm going to get to know all of it, too - every fucking inch." The man's two hands continued their manhandling of Brady's body for a few more minutes while the boy writhed against him. Then, suddenly, to Brady's surprise, the man released his grip on him and the boy stumbled backwards.

"First things first," the man said in response to Brady's questioning look. Dr. Debt moved over to the side table and opened his briefcase. He removed a number of smallish items from the top and then turned and held them out to Brady.

"Here's your money, boy," he announced. "Come and get it." But when Brady took a step forward and reached out his hands, Dr. Debt moved his own hands back. Brady's eyes narrowed as he looked at the man, causing Dr. Debt to laugh.

"Oh, don't worry, boy," he said, his voice tinged with amusement, "I'm going to give you the money. But, before I do, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. Right now, you can change your mind about what you've agreed to and I'll turn around and walk out that door. But once you take possession of this money, there's no going back. You're committed. You're in for the entire evening no matter what. So what's it going to be, boy? Do you want the money?"

Brady stood there looking at the man for a long time. Over the past few minutes he'd had a foretaste of just how unpleasant the entire evening would be and it had already left him shaky. Part of him wanted to tell the man to just take his money and leave. But another part of him feared that without the man's money he'd end up losing his apartment, losing the life-style he'd come to enjoy. Sure the experience was going to be bad; fuck, it'd probably be horrible. But it was only for one night. He could stand anything for one night, he told himself. Besides, he'd already shaven his body and let Dr. Debt molest him like a cheap whore. All of that would be for nothing if he backed out now. So Brady ignored his fears, looked the man straight in the eye, and declared, "I'll go through with it. Give me the money."

The man looked at him hard, a slight scowl on his face. Brady was nonplussed by this reaction until it dawned on him what the problem was. "Sorry," he said in a more subservient tone. "I'll go through with it, sir. May I please have the money, sir"

The man's scowl was immediately replaced by a broad grin. "Yes, you may, boy. Here it is," he added as he proffered the bundles. Brady took them from the man and then examined them more closely. There were six packets of twenty-dollar bills, each one held together by a light-purplish paper strap.

"There's a hundred bills in each packet," Dr. Debt informed Brady as the boy stood there turning over the packets in his hands, "so each packet is worth $2,000. It works out nice that way, six hours - six packets. They're fresh from the bank, but feel free to count them if you want."

Brady paused for a moment, undecided as to what he should do. The bills had the feel and crispness of new money so they had almost certainly come from a bank. But Brady didn't really trust the man in front of him and he'd like to make sure he wasn't being played. On the other hand, Brady didn't want to piss the man off, particularly seeing how he was going to pretty much be at the man's mercy for the rest of the evening. Brady was still uncertain as to what he should do when Dr. Debt provided him with an out.

"Why don't you take that money and find somewhere safe to put it. You don't want it being misplaced during the rest of the evening's activities and, now that it's in your hands, the money is your responsibility."

"I'll do that right away, sir. Thank you, sir," Brady replied, relieved he wouldn't have to make a public decision about counting the money. As he turned to leave, Dr. Debt spoke again. "You can take a few minutes to make sure the money's safe, boy, but don't take too long. You're already on the clock. Don't make me come looking for you."

Brady turned back. "No, sir. I won't make you wait," he reassured the man. "I'll be quick." And then he hurried off to his bedroom.

In just over three minutes, Brady was headed back to the hallway, feeling very pleased with himself. He'd been afraid that counting all those bills would take too long and he didn't want to risk Dr. Debt's wrath, but he'd worked out an easy way to make sure that all the money was there. First, he riffled each packet slowly to make sure all the bills were twenties. Then, he simply compared the serial number on the top bill of each packet with the number on the bottom bill. Since all the bills in the packets looked to be brand new, the packets had probably come straight from the mint, which meant that the bills should be consecutively numbered. Sure enough, the last three digits of the first packet's top bill were 200 and the last three digits of the bottom bill were 299. Using this technique, Brady was able to establish, in less than a minute, that the man had given him the promised $12,000. Now, regardless as to whatever else would happen to Brady tonight, he had at least gotten $12,000 out of his ordeal.

He spent the next two minutes selecting a suitable hiding place for all that cash. He finally decided upon the area underneath the bottom center drawer of the big bureau. Gaining access to that area required that he move the queen-sized bed so that there would be enough room to get the drawer beyond the bureau's runners. Once he had deposited the six packets in the gap that existed between the bottom of the bureau and the bottom of the drawer, he replaced the drawer back in the bureau, and then moved the bed back into place.

Brady realized as he struggled to move the bed back that Dr. Debt would have no physical problem whatsoever either in moving the bed or extracting the bottom drawer from the dresser, but it wasn't Dr. Debt he was afraid of. Brady realized that if the man wanted to he could just beat the information as to the money's location out of him; he wouldn't have to go around looking for it. But if the man intended do that, there would have been no reason to even give Brady the money in the first place.

While Brady was proud of his physical strength, he didn't kid himself. One of the reasons Brady felt so intimidated by Dr. Debt was that he realized that once he'd let the man into his apartment, Brady was powerless to prevent Dr. Debt from doing anything the man wanted to do to him. Dr. Debt could rape him from now until the cows came home, or at least until Jen walked through the door on Monday, and Brady would just have to take it. Sure, he could call the police once everything was over and see that the guy went to jail but as far as keeping the man from fucking him now - or doing anything else he wanted to do to Brady - there was no chance at all. Of that, Brady was sure.

No, the reason Brady had taken such care to hide the money was that he didn't want Jen to find it when she got back. He figured it'd be a few days before he'd be able to make it to the bank and he didn't want to have to explain to Jen how he'd acquired that much cash, particularly since he'd already have to explain why he'd shaved off all his body hair. He certainly didn't want to provide her with enough information to put two and two together and figure out that he'd made his money by pimping out his own ass. With the money safely beneath the bureau's drawer, he was sure that Jen would never find it and so at least one potential problem would be avoided.

Brady was feeling pretty good as he headed back into the hallway. And then he came to a dead stop and his mouth just dropped open in palpable shock.

Dr. Debt had been busy while he was gone. The camcorder had been moved on to the corner table and aimed straight at the mirror. Seeing the monitor lights blinking red, Brady realized it was now in operation. But that wasn't what had so shocked Brady. While Brady had been finding a safe place to hide his money Dr. Debt had also found time to remove his clothes and now, like Brady, was naked. But while he was as naked as Brady, that was where all similarities ended.

Brady had always prided himself on his sculpted, muscular physique. His chest was large and well-developed, but not so large as to be out of proportion with the rest of his body. While his pectorals were hard and firm, they were matched by a similar muscular development of his abdominals and obliques. Brady had also spent a significant amount of time on his legs so that his thighs and calves were the appropriate size for the rest of his body. The overall effect of all this work was both pleasing to the eye and stimulating to the libido.

More than once, a total stranger had walked up to Brady in the gym and asked for suggestions on how he could develop a body like Brady's. Brady figured that most of these dudes were gay, but he took the implicit compliment with good grace and actually provided some advice that he thought might help them. Brady was pleased that he had a body that most people could admire.

The body Brady was now looking at, however, was nothing at all like his own. First of all, there was the sheer size of it. Brady had realized it was massive the first time he'd met Dr. Debt. But then the man had been clothed. Somehow, with clothing no longer covering it, the mass of the body seemed even larger - more imposing but also more off-putting. While its huge size certainly projected power, it was distinctly unappealing because the proportions were distorted and the muscular development uneven.

Admittedly, the man's chest was truly huge, easily in excess of 50 inches. The man's arms were similarly large. But so, too, was the man's belly. Brady had already noticed that Dr. Debt's midsection looked to be flabby, but he was totally unprepared for the cascading rolls of fat that descended from right below the chest to the bottom of the man's groin. The bottom of the man's belly extended a good five inches beyond the large legs supporting the man's considerable weight. The legs, themselves, while out-sized showed no muscular definition and their girth seemed obviously the result of the man's overall extreme obesity. Taken as a whole, the man's muscular structure was distinctly unappealing. But that wasn't the worst of it.

With his totally shaven body, every muscle on the Brady's torso now stood out in sharp relief. It was impossible to imagine how the man in front of him could create a greater contrast. Virtually every inch of the Dr. Debt's body, from his shoulders to his feet, was covered by a thick carpet of black hair. Brady had seen hairy guys before, of course, but he had never seen anyone whose hirsute covering even approached that of the man standing in front of him. The hair was so thick and unruly that had he seen the man at a distance Brady was sure he would have assumed that the man was wearing a bear's hide as a costume. Standing close to the man as he was, it was all too obvious that the hair was real.

Brady felt a wave of reflexive repulsion wash over him. He had never in his life seen any person, man or woman, who he had found less attractive, less appealing. And this was the man Brady had agreed to let fuck him for the next six hours. Brady could feel his gorge rising in his throat and was afraid for a few moments that he might actually vomit. It was only with a real effort that he managed to avoid doing just that.

But it was not just repulsion that Brady felt as he looked at the now naked man standing in front of him, the man he'd agree to sexually service. The physical repugnance he felt was joined by an equally large dose of sexual terror. The man's nakedness had provided Brady with his first glimpse of the man's sex organs and Brady could scarcely believe his own eyes.

The man's testicles, which hung pendulously down from the base of his stomach, were the largest he had ever seen, as large as small grapefruits. But it wasn't the man's balls that had caused a surge of abject fear to rush through Brady. It was the man's unbelievable cock.

Given Dr. Debt's bulk, Brady had expected that the man's penis was probably of a pretty respectable size - somewhere around seven or eight inches. His nightmare had been that the man's dick might accurately reflect the man's general dimensions and reach ten or even, God forbid, eleven inches. But never, in his wildest fancies, had he thought he'd be staring at the object that now held his eyes riveted to the man's groin.

Dr. Debt's dick wasn't simply huge, it wasn't merely massive, it was truly, unbelievably monstrous. Jutting out at a 90 degree angle from beneath his giant belly, pointing straight towards him, Brady estimated that the man's dick had to be at least 14 or 15 inches long, with a circumference at the base in excess of 8 inches. It was a dick you'd expect to see on aroused young stallion getting ready to mount a filly. It was certainly not the dick Brady thought that he'd have crammed up his virgin ass.

Remembering how small his asshole had looked when he was shaving it this morning, the boy was sure there was no way that Dr. Debt could ever maneuver that monstrosity up into him. But the fact that he would try, that he would attempt to force that horse-cock past Brady's sphincter, filled the boy with an all-consuming fear. Just the idea of having that gigantic cock-head butting against his tender ass-hole was terrifying. Brady found himself shaking uncontrollably.

Brady didn't know how long he stood there, his eyes transfixed by the monstrous cock, before he became aware that the man was speaking to him. "Boy," he finally heard. "Boy. Look at me. Look at me now."

The tone the man was using brooked no hesitation on the boy's part. For the first time since his eyes had locked on to it, the boy removed his gaze from the man's crotch and slowly raised it to the man's face.

Brady was sure that his own face readily showed the revulsion and terror he was feeling and he was afraid that his reaction would trigger a hot fury in the man. But there was no sign of anger on the man's face as he looked at it. It wasn't anger he saw on the man's face, it was amusement. The man's beady eyes fairly danced with barely-suppressed glee. Brady suddenly realized that the man had fully expected the boy's reaction and was actually amused by it, amused by the boy's revulsion and fear.

Dr. Debt just stood there looking at him for another minute, obviously enjoying Brady's discomfort. Then, he spoke again. "Bet you weren't expecting it to be so big, were you, boy?" he asked, affecting an avuncular tone. "Guess your daddy never told you that you should never buy a car without taking it for a test drive first. Well," he went on, now openly grinning, "I'm sure you won't make that mistake again in the future. But right now, boy, you have a payment to make. The first of many. So you just get your ass over here and we'll start having our fun together."

Brady didn't move; he didn't think he could move. The raw terror that he was now feeling seemed to sap all his ability to control his muscles. He felt rooted to the floor. As the seconds ticked by and Brady showed no intent to comply with his order, Dr. Debt's face quickly took on an angrier mien. "Boy," he began again, his voice now menacing rather than avuncular, "I told you to get your ass over here. Now!"

Brady tried to comply but he couldn't seem to make his legs move. But when he heard Dr. Debt darkly warn, "You'll be really sorry if I have to come over there and get you," Brady finally managed to get his right foot off the floor and shove it forward half a step. With effort, he got the left foot to follow suit and then slowly, haltingly, he made his way across the floor until he stood directly in front of Dr. Debt.

Brady raised his head to look the man in the face. "Please, sir," he began, intending to plead with the man to let him out of their agreement, but he was immediately cut off.

"Don't even bother, boy," Dr. Debt sneered. "The time for you to reconsider your choice is over. I gave you ample opportunity to back out earlier, but you let your desire for my money override your misgivings. Well, you now have my money and it's time for you to pay the piper. On your knees, boy," he roughly ordered. "Now!"

Brady felt himself dropping to his knees, his cheeks becoming moist from the tears that had begun to seep slowly from his eyes - eyes that suddenly popped wide in renewed horror when he realized that the bloated head of the man's monstrous sex organ was just inches from his mouth.

"Say hello to Mr. Bitch-Maker," Dr. Debt directed.

Brady just stared at the bulbous end of the giant column of flesh that jutted out straight at him in an almost hypnotic trance.

"I said, say hello to Mr. Bitch-Maker, boy. Are you deaf?" The man accompanied this last question with a vicious slap to the side of Brady's face.

As painful as it was, that slap served to bring Brady back to his senses. And the first thing that he realized was that no matter how strongly he was repulsed and sickened by the prospect, he was going to have to sexually service this man. There was no way Brady could overpower him and it was clear the man was willing to beat Brady into submission if he had to. One way or another, the man was going to fuck him, or at least try to fuck him - Brady still didn't think there was any way the man could get his revolting, over-sized horse-dick up Brady's ass. Regardless, Brady didn't want to be beaten to a pulp in addition to suffering all the abuse he now knew he faced. So Brady forced himself to look up and meet Dr. Debt's eyes.

"I'm sorry, sir," he apologized. And then, bringing his gaze back down, he looked at the giant tube of flesh that was literally bobbing up and down right in front of him. "Nice to me you, Mr. Bitch-Maker," he heard himself say, wondering as he did so just how low he'd be forced to sink before the night was over.

"Well that's much better, boy," he heard Dr. Debt reply, once again assuming the friendlier tone of a bemused uncle. "Just to show that there's no hard feelings, boy, why don't you give Mr. Bitch-Maker a kiss. I'm sure he'd appreciate that."

Swallowing hard, Brady forced himself to lean forward until his lips were pressed against the head of Dr. Debt's penis. "Don't be shy about using your tongue, boy, even though you two have just met. After all, I'm sure the pair of you will be on intimate terms by the time the evening's over." Reluctantly, Brady opened his mouth and extended his tongue.

His tongue had taken just a few swipes at the spongy, leathery head of the man's cock when he heard Dr. Debt say, "I can tell that Mr. Bitch-Maker is already anxious to get to know you better." The next thing Brady knew, Dr. Debt had thrust his hips forward and forced the first two inches of his cock past Brady's lips and into his mouth. "Much, much better," the man added, grabbing a shock of Brady's hair and ramming his monstrous tool into the back of the boy's throat, where he held it as the boy choked and sputtered.

For the next few minutes, Dr. Debt kept his cock tightly wedged in the boy's mouth as Brady struggled to accommodate it, but then suddenly he pulled it out, leaving Brady gasping for breath with tears now freely running down his cheeks. "There'll be time enough later for you to polish your cock-sucking skills, boy," the man sneered. "Right now, I think it's time you had your cherry popped. On your feet, boy."

Brady tried to dampen the overwhelming sense of doom that immediately engulfed him as he struggled back to his feet. This was the moment he been dreading since he first agreed to Dr. Debt's terms, even before he'd seen the monstrosity that served as the man's cock. He still couldn't believe his hole could ever stretch wide enough to allow that cock to enter but he was sure that the mere attempt to accomplish the deed would cause him excruciating pain. 'You just got to tough it out,' he told himself. 'It's gonna hurt like hell, but in six hours, less than six hours now, this entire nightmare will be over. You just have to make it until then.' But despite his best efforts to reassure himself, he could feel his heart racing and his entire body trembling as he once again stood before the man.

Almost immediately, Dr. Debt roughly moved the boy's body so that he was standing directly in front of the mirror, facing his own reflection. "Stay right here, boy," the man ordered. "I'll be back in a second." Dr. Debt walked over to his briefcase, which was now sitting on the floor, reached in and extracted a leather strap with what looked to be a large rubber ball in the middle of it. It wasn't until the man returned and stuck the ball into Brady's mouth and began affixing the strap to the back of his neck that Brady realized it was some type of gag.

Brad tried to indicate that he didn't need a gag - he'd made up his mind to submit. But the man immediately forestalled his objections. "Boy, you may not think you need a gag but, believe me, you do. I have enough experience fucking virgin boys to know there's no way you're not going to scream your lungs out the first time I bust through your sphincter. The ball will muffle your cries and also give you something to bite down on when the pain gets too great. Trust me. This gag is for your benefit, for my benefit, and, above all, for your neighbors' benefit." The man's declarations did nothing to reassure the boy but Brady made no effort to resist as Dr. Debt worked on the strap.

Once the gag was firmly affixed in Brady's mouth, the man returned to his briefcase, this time removing a long tube of what looked like to be an ointment. Watching in the mirror, Brady could see the man unscrew the cap and squeeze a huge amount of a clear gel onto one hand and then begin liberally applying that gel to his tumescent cock. While he was doing so, the man looked up and saw Brady looking at him.

"Don't think I'm lubing up for your benefit, boy" Dr. Debt said with an obvious sneer. "Usually I don't use any lubrication when I fuck a bitch's hole but, with virgins like you, I've found it's better if I make an exception. Cherry pussies can be really rough on Mr. Bitch-Maker since they're usually super-tight at the start. Not so much later, of course. But during the initial penetration I've found it helps Mr. Bitch-Maker out if there's some lubrication. Don't get used to it, though," he advised Brady with a smirk. "It's the only time I'll be using it tonight."

The man applied a few more dollops of the ointment to his hard prong and then re-screwed the cap and tossed the tube into his briefcase. Finished, he walked back over and stood directly behind Brady. The boy had time for only a single breath before the man's long arms reached out and pulled him backwards, holding him so tightly against the man's hairy body that Brady found it difficult to inhale. Brady could feel Dr. Debt's hard donkey-dong along his lower spine. It seemed to stretch upwards all the way from just above his ass-cheeks to the upper third of his back. There was simply no fucking way that thing was ever going to fit up his tight, virginal hole - of that Brady was sure.

With a start, Brady suddenly realized he was moving upwards into the air. Dr. Debt had reached down, taken a firm grip of both of Brady's lower thighs and, as effortlessly as Brady might curl a five-pound barbell, raised the boy's body two-feet off the floor. Looking at himself in the mirror, Brady realized that his ass was now situated above the man's rampant penis. The man adjusted his grip, moved slightly and Brady felt his tender anus come to rest atop Dr. Debt's massive column of man-meat which was now arcing straight into the air. All at once, the boy realized what was about to happen and began moaning in fear, even though the actual sound was muffled by the gag in his mouth.

Brady expected that Dr. Debt would immediately begin his efforts to penetrate him, but that didn't happen. Instead, the man had some final instructions for Brady before moving on to his deflowering. "Lower your hands to your crotch and take your little boy-dick in your right hand and grab your balls with the left." Slowly, his arms visibly shaking, Brady complied.

"Start jerking off your little boy-dick with you right hand while you elevate your balls with your left hand so that they're above the bottom of your groin." When Brady did as he was told, Dr. Debt ordered him to look back into the mirror. When he did, Brady immediately realized that he now had a clear view of the head of the man's massive boner pressing against his ass-crack.

"It's not every day that a boy loses his cherry," Dr. Debt continued. "I want you to have a good view of my dick as Mr. Bitch-Maker changes you from a boy into a bitch. So you make sure you keep those balls raised until I tell you otherwise."

The man's overweening self-confidence sent a cold shudder through Brady. But Dr. Debt wasn't done talking yet. "And, if you want my advice, you'll keep stroking that little boy-cock you've got as long as you can. It's a lot easier getting your pussy reamed out if you're hard yourself. And your pussy's going to see a lot of action tonight."

This last comment caused Brady to glance up at Dr. Debt's face. Even in the mirror he could see the cold gleam in the man's eyes. Seeing the boy raise his head, the man met his gaze. "What say we get this party going? Alright, boy?" And with that Brady felt the man lower his thighs a good two inches.

Immediately, Brady felt an incredible pressure on his anal tissues as the weight of his entire body bore down on the Dr. Debt's humongous prick. He could feel his butt-hole stretching further and further as the pressure continued, causing bolts of pain to shoot through his ass. Soon, Brady found himself biting into the rubber ball in his mouth as the pain became unbearable.

The pressure on his anus as it was slowly stretched steadily increased until Brady could tell that it had reached its limits - it was incapable of stretching any further. And still the crown of Dr. Debt's monster had not been able to force its way inside of him. Dr. Debt must have been able to tell that, too, because suddenly Brady felt two huge hands grab his waist and viciously pull down. Brady issued a high-pitched shriek, clearly audible in the corridor outside his apartment even though through the gag, as his sphincter gave way and the enormous crown of Dr. Debt's horse-cock penetrated Brady's hole. Mr. Bitch-Maker had bulled his way in.

Brady had never in his entire life felt such agonizing pain. He had dislocated his shoulder once in a lacrosse game but that was nothing compared to what he now felt. It was as if a blowtorch was being held just inside his sphincter and slowly rotated. The pain was simply excruciating. He was already in total agony, but he still found himself shrieking again as an additional two inches were thrust up his hole.

Even though his eyes had closed tightly as the initial waves of pain coursed through his body, Brady forced himself to open them and look in the mirror. Almost a foot of the man's cock had yet to enter him but already he could see his lower abdomen bulging out as the monstrous organ continued to force its way up Brady's hole. The tube was so thick that it looked more like a man's forearm than a cock and, from the way it felt inside his ass, Brady could well-believe that he was feeling what it felt like to be fist-fucked - a sensation which he had never, even in his most lurid nightmares, thought he would experience.

As he looked at himself in the mirror he saw to his horror that, once again, his ass was beginning to slide down the giant pole, allowing more and more of the man's monster passage into the boy's no-longer-virgin ass. He leaned back against the man fleshy shoulder and howled as waves of excruciating pain radiated outward from his ass.

It must have taken almost ten minutes for Dr. Debt to cram all of his horse-cock up into Brady. During that horrible ordeal, Brady alternately screamed, cried, and begged the man to stop, all to no effect as the man relentlessly completed his total penetration of the boy's tight ass. By the time Brady's totally destroyed rectum came to rest just above the top of the man's ball-sack, the boy's body was dripping sweat, his mind reeling from the pain emanating from his tortured back passage. A sharp command from Dr. Debt made Brady re-focus on his present reality. "Look into the mirror, bitch," he ordered.

When Brady did as he was told, he could see that Dr. Debt's hands were again gripping his thighs. Without another word, the man once again lifted him into the air. Brady watched in appalled fascination as inch after inch of the man's cock re-appeared in the mirror. It seemed to go on forever. And as he began to extrude the man's gigantic tool, Brady could feel movement inside his body which seemed to start well above his navel. Ever so slowly the man continued to lift the boy. And, as he did so, Brady couldn't help noticing that the man's cock was now coated with a slimy mixture of the lubricant he had applied and anal juices from the boy's plundered butt. It looked truly disgusting. But as mesmerized as a cobra by a snake charmer's waving pipe, he found himself unable to look away.

Dr. Debt continued to elevate the boy's body until only the crown of his massive cock remained imbedded within the boy. "Now watch this, bitch," he directed. The man released his hold on Brady's thighs and almost immediately the boy's body slowly but inexorably sank down the full, incredible length of the man's erection until Brady was once again fully impaled, squirming and squealing in discomfort.

"Mr. Bitch-Maker has done his job again," he said with a chuckle. "He's turned a virgin boy into a cock-stuffed bitch. You've got a pussy between your legs now, bitch. A hungry little pussy that I'm about to feed. So brace yourself, boy. You're about to get fucked - fucked raw like every bitch should be - fucked so hard that you'll be walking bowlegged like a drunken sailor for the next week." And with that, the man lowered Brady so that his feet were once again on the floor, though the boy was forced to stand on his tip-toes to accommodate the pulsating tube rammed so deeply inside of him, stretching his entire anal sleeve to the breaking point.

Dr. Debt placed a hand on the back of Brady's shoulder and forced him to bend over at the waist, giving the man easier access to the boy's painfully stuffed anal passage. He removed about ten inches of his pole from the boy's hole before brutally ramming it back in. He did it again. And again. Soon he was fucking the boy at a frenzied pace and being rewarded with shriek after shriek as the boy's hole was violently pummeled. Just to provide a little variety he suddenly pulled his monster cock totally out of the boy's pussy and then viciously rammed it back in all the way to its hairy root. The boy's head shot up, his face contorted in agony. The man almost laughed out loud.

'This fucking hole is incredible,' Dr. Debt thought, as he resumed a rapid in-and-out pace, pulverizing the boy's spasming hole. 'This bitch is a keeper, that's for sure.'

Beneath him, there was only one thought coursing through Brady's tortured brain. 'Please, God,' he pleaded, 'let it end. Oh, God, let it end. Please. Please. Pleeeeaaaasse!"