Another First Time

The slave trader, cloaked, with a hood covering his head, led the way in the predawn darkness up the dock and into the streets of the Greek island of Mykonos at the eastern edge of the Mykonos harbor port. Behind him was a burly yacht crewman with a blanketed bundle bent over a shoulder. Another crewman followed, a machine pistol in hand, his eyes looking everywhere at once for possible trouble. Two others followed, burdened under the weight of a large, collapsed cage.

They reached the edge of the village streets without attracting attention or alarm. Two blocks up from the waterfront, on a narrow, cobblestoned street, a door at the top of the stairs into a stone row house was open, with a large-framed, burly, back-lighted man standing in the doorway, scanning the street.

The Greek artist Damien Drako had been on the lookout for them. He stood aside as the procession entered his house. He waved the hooded slave trader and the man with the bundle over his shoulder to a living room and the two men carrying the cage up more stairs and to a room behind his painting studio. The man with the machine pistol remained standing in the foyer just inside the door.

"Let me see him," Drako said in an excited voice, and the man carrying the blanket-covered body, set the young, naked man down on his feet the floor and whipped away the blanket.

Drako sucked in air. "He's perfect. Absolutely perfect."

Trent stood diffidently before him, his wrists and ankles shacked in golden chains. His tussled, now-black hair was shyly on display as he had his head turned to the floor.

Drako walked around Trent, running his hands over the smooth, completely shaved—other than the head hair—body. Moving in front of Trent, Drako cupped the young man's balls with one hand, breathing heavily again as he felt Trent's cock hardening at the touch. He lifted Trent's face with the other hand and starred into the young man's pale, blue eyes.

"Are you going to fuck me? I need someone to fuck me," Trent murmured dreamily.

"He's beautiful. Simply magnificent," Drako said.

"And he's all yours until you're done with him. We'll return for the body. Within a week is the agreement. The transaction has cleared the bank."

"He seems so docile."

"You will be able to handle himself yourself as long as you give him these drugs every four hours. You have a week's supply. You won't need more. He's trained to the cage, is unable to speak above a mumble, and he promises to be a satyrist. It's been everything we could do in recent months to keep him from having sex with every man who comes close to him. There's every reason to believe that, once initiated, he'll beg for it constantly. And he will be completely submissive. He is a virgin—as you can see a frustrated virgin—as ordered, trained to this one-time service since he was a child. He has been brought to the brink so often, and reacted to it so well, that he is ready and will be willing. We have brought him to the point that he wants it so bad the first time that he'll give you no trouble whatsoever. The deal, you will recall, is for him to be erased by end of the week."

"I'm aware of this. I've done this before."

Which, of course, was the crux of the operation. Drako was active in the slave trade in the Mediterranean and was becoming dangerously so, his last purchase having been the son of a very powerful man in the United States, who had to pay dearly to get his son—quite damaged—back from a Yemeni sheik and was pressuring to have Drako's activities curtailed. The father had the right connections in the U.S. government to command attention and response.

"He will be a perfect model," Drako said. The irony was that yet another very powerful man in the United States was paying top dollar for a collection of photos, paintings, and DVDs of a young Greek man being taken for the first time by an older Greek man—Drako himself. The operation was a double sting. Drako was to be caught in the act, from purchase of a slave through much of the image production, and the buyer in the States would then be arrested some way into the rolling delivery of images. This second sting was of even more importance to the intelligence agency than the first one was. The images buyer in the States was much more of a nuisance to the Agency in his support of factors trying to curtail intelligence activities than Drako's activities were.

"It's not our concern what you are using him for," the hooded man answered, "just that he never becomes a problem for us."

"Agreed. But he's so beautiful that it seems a waste." Drako sighed deeply and then changed the subject. "Provenance?"

"Canadian, we think." Maurice, as the hooded man answered. "Taken as a child in a pirate attack on his family yacht."

"Name?"

"Just call him Slave. That's all we've ever called him and it's what he identifies as. You, as his master, can demand anything of him and he will comply. He has no other purpose in life than to do the bidding of a master. And he's ripe for the fuck."

"Pirated by your organization, I take it?" Drako asked.

Maurice didn't answer that. "The only thing you need to know," he said instead, "is that he has been conditioned to be completely submissive, we've taken him to the point of knowing he will want to be fucked by a man, and as long as you continue with the drug regimen, he will be completely in your control. You won't have to worry about him mouthing back to you. He can do little more than mumble."

"The price is very high," Drako said, as the two who had struggled with the collapsed cage came down the stairs and signaled that the set-up work was done.

"As are the costs of the services," Maurice answered.

As if to test the claim of docility, Drako moved his lips to Slave's lips, which opened readily to his kiss. Drako felt a jolt of response in the young man's dick he still had in his hand and the wetness of precum on the piss slit. "Please fuck me, daddy," Slave murmured.

"He does seem ripe for it," Drako said, turning to where the hooded figure had stood, but finding that he and the rest of the men were gone.

Slave moaned deeply and Drako smiled. "Let's go to the studio and begin work, shall we?"

* * * *

Maurice and the four Seals returned to the yacht, but they sailed it only over to the western side of the harbor, where they left and moved to a command center, already manned, set up in a flat over a gay bar. Mykonos had a large and active gay community, with an established gay district, which is what drew footloose and unattached men to the island. This, thus, also was both the foundation for men falling off the grid without anyone looking for them and a major supply source for Drako's participation in the gay men slave trafficking network that served Middle Eastern princes still steeped in the privileges of the Middle Ages.

"Any luck?" the command center chief asked as Maurice entered the room.

"Anything?" Maurice said in turning to the two Seals who had set up the slave cage at the artist's house.

"Nothing," one of them answered. "After setting up the cage, we checked all of the rooms in the house while you were engaging the target. We found no sign of his slave-running activities."

"There have been rumors of at least three men disappearing from local gay bars in the last two weeks," the command center chief said. "We've watched all transport carefully and we're sure they must still be here. If they aren't in Drako's house, he must have them stashed elsewhere. We've intercepted communications that he has 'packages' on offer. Several Mid Easterners are sniffing around with interest."

"If he has another place he's holding the men, our agent in place will need to ferret that out," Maurice said.

"Will he be capable of that? And does he have a means of communications?" the command center chief asked.

"All taken care of. And he's a true professional at this."

"I can't imagine putting myself in the danger—and the personal sacrifice—that he's doing," the command center chief said.

"It takes a special man," Maurice answered, "one who enjoys what is involved in the work. Trent is that special man. I think he'd do it for the high even if he wasn't paid to do it." This came out in a gravelly voice that caused the command center chief to look sharply at Maurice, whose eyes were slitted and lips were being licked.

"I suppose," he said, contemplating whether Maurice too was motivated more by the lust of danger than by the money and position. The man had heard the rumors that Maurice handled his agents by controlling them with his dick.

"I say again that this agent is very good at what he does," Maurice said, but then turning serious, he concluded with, "I just hope he's able to get it done in a few days. We only have a week before he's in mortal danger, and I'm not sure that Drako plans to take the whole week. The intelligence on him is that he's a master of making young men disappear—and that they aren't all sold—that he has a sadistic streak in him that prompts him to use up his merchandise himself from time to time."

* * * *

The initial hour-and-a-half session with Drako was totally exhausting for Slave, not just because Drako fucked him hard while cameras whirred, taking it all in but also because Slave had to put on an Academy Award-winning performance. He'd been presented as a disposable virgin who was frustrated by the need to lose his virginity. The fucking was skin on skin, as Slave, as a virgin, would provide no worry of disease and was to be expended quickly. And Drako had what was known as a beer-can dick—not appreciably long, but extraordinarily thick, which was not normally the first dick you've give to a young, virginal man, but that, in this case, was part of the arousal attraction of the films being taken.

The client wanted graphic images of the invasion of a virginal, tight hole by an unusually thick cock—and visual shots of the young man's reaction.

So, Slave had to take an extra-thick cock for what was supposedly his first time from a man showing no patience or sensitivity and give a convincing performance of doing that, even though the cock wasn't, in fact, the thickest one Trent had taken. Luckily his passage was unusually elastic, making it seem that it was nearly impossible to accommodate what, in fact, Slave could handle rather easily.

And cutting into that, Slave was being given drugs—although they were just placebos—that were supposed to render him malleable. To please the camera, Slave had to somehow maneuver between showing he was being brutally fucked for the first time by a thick cock but also that he had been drugged into total submission to it and that he was hot and heavy to be fucked.

Drako didn't help. He provided very little foreplay—some mutual sucking and fingering open Slave's anal canal, before he had Slave, wrists and ankles still shackled, in a side split on a divan surrounded by whirring cameras, and was insistently stuffing the young man's ass with a hard, beer can cock, while Slave moaned, sobbed, opened his mouth wide in a silent scream, languidly writhed, and took on facile expressions that were dominated by pain-pleasure and the far-away look of barely being there but, at the same time, wanting what was happening.

Slowly, slowly Slave succumbed to the rhythm of the fuck, so that when Drako turned him on his back and pushed his knees under Slave's buttocks, raising his passage for a straighter, deeper invasion of the barebacking, thick staff, Slave was mumbling, "Yes, yes, deeper, harder," and moving his pelvis in time with the hard thrusts in Drako's attempts to become fully sheathed. As Slave's walls yielded at last to deep penetration, the effect of the supposed drugs seemed to melt away, and he cried out loudly for the only time, "Shit, you're killing me. Fuck, fuck, YES!" as he shot his load and Drako did so as well inside him.

The last position of the initial round of coupling was one in which Slave could feign a total exhaustion that he actually felt as hard as he'd had to work to maintain character for an hour of "first-time" fucking by just laying on his belly, his shackled arms raised above his head as Drako mounted his ass and rode him hard.

Finished with his second ejaculation, Drako pulled out of Slave, climbed off the divan, and, leaving Slave stretched out on his belly and totally exhausted in appearance, with a dreamy expression on his face and his buttocks tilted up, clearly showing a widely reamed asshole, went for his sketchbook and pencils. For nearly the next hour he sketched the young, totally fucked Slave from all angles, while Slave begged him in a soft voice to come back and fuck him again.

For hours, into the twilight, Drako did so, drawn again and again by some scent or presence in the otherwise innocent-aspected young man that caused Drako to want his thick cock inside the slave, pumping his cum in the sweet passage, as the smaller man trembled, gasped, sighed, and moaned within his embrace. He later could provide sketches for his patron of the fuck in process too from still shots taken from the video.

When Drako was finally done, he hauled the younger, smaller man over his shoulder to the shower, where they were plastered together, Slave kneeling before him and sucking him off as the water cascaded over them both. Then, after Drako dried them both off, Slave was manhandled to the cage that had been set up in the corner of the studio and deposited there. Forcing Slave on all fours in the cage, Drako covered and mounted him again, fucking him to yet another ejaculation without that session being filmed—which Trent, as Slave, took as a sign that Drako was pleased with Slave's body and submissiveness.

Murmuring how good Slave was, Drako cupped Slave's chin with one hand, pulling his head back to Drako's cheek and arching the young man's back as he thrust hard again and again and again. Drako possessed Slave's mouth with his and Slave moaned deeply for him, increasingly counterpunching his buttocks back hard against the thrusts and whimpering his need and desire for Drako to continue taking him hard.

Locking the cage door, with Slave huddled on the floor of the cage, still whimpering and breathing hard, Drako left the room to shower again and clothe himself. By now evening was setting in and the light in the studio was dimming.

Trent as Slave attentively listened to the movement of the Greek in the house. He dare not reveal how attentive and aware he was, though, for fear that there were video cameras trained on the cage—although he couldn't see any.

What he

could

see as he looked around the studio were nearly finished paintings of other young men in various stages of being fucked by the burly and hirsute older Greek. As they were still being worked on, Slave wondered if they were immediate previous young men who had been put in the same position and used in the same way as he had just been.

As the evening light dimmed, he felt freer to move around the cage, which had been specially designed for his needs. At the back of the cage was a toilet unit that negated the need to give breaks from the cage to the prisoner. The more functional aspect of this for Trent, though, was that the back panel of the toilet came off, offering up everything he needed—keys for locks; shorts, T-shirt, and sandals; and a cell phone—for Slave's need to break free.

Trent knew that the evidence of slave trafficking hadn't been found in this house, which meant it must be elsewhere. He also knew it would be his job to find out where.

Not long after it was totally dark outside, he heard Drako leave the house on the floor below and, having already arranged the clothes for a quick change, dressed and unlocked his shackles and cage door. He managed to steal down to the lower floor and out the door and be able to see where Drako was heading and to follow him at some distance.

A few ascending street levels up from the Drako's harbor house, the Greek slowed, looked around, and then entered the doorway of another stone-clad row house. Slave called in his location on his cell phone and then followed.

* * * *

"Where did you think you were going? You managed to slip your bonds and become perky all of a sudden."

As soon as Trent entered the door, which led back into a darkened courtyard, a hand came out of the shadows, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him hard against a stone wall, taking the wind out of his sails. He found himself backed up against the wall with Drako's body pressing him against the stone. Drako had a gun in his hand, with the barrel forced up under Slave's chin. The cell phone had clattered off somewhere in the shuffle.

Slave had been presented as not being able to more than mumble—and had remained this way with the exception of the instance in which his passage walls yielded to the full length of Drako's beer can dick and to a mutual ejaculation—which was the one time that Trent's control had broken down. Lost in lust, Drako hadn't seemed to have noticed that Trent could speak above a whisper. That saved the young agent from trying to come up with an explanation for his presence here now.

Drako just gave him an intense look. "This isn't what it purports to be, is it?" he asked angrily, not really expecting an answer and not receiving one. "Is this just you playing a role or is this the supplier too? No matter. You obviously are curious about what I have here, in this second house. So, let's satisfy that curiosity. It won't do you a bit of good anyway."

Grabbing the smaller man roughly, Drako manhandled him across the courtyard and to steps leading down into a cellar under the house. When Trent had tumbled down the last five stone steps to the beaten-earth floor below with a shove from Drako's hands and looked up, his eyes went wide in surprise and fear.

* * * *

Trent moaned as the splash of the water from the bucket hit him full force and brought him back into consciousness. He cried out—no longer using the pretense of near silence—as the shock of the cold water was immediately replaced by the sting of the cat-o-nine tail whip strands on his belly, his thighs, and then directly on his exposed genitals.

He heard the laugh and the harsh, "You like it. It has you hard."

He gasped and writhed against the lashing as best he could, considering he was suspended, naked, from a ceiling hook in the center of the torture chamber, his feet barely able to touch the ground, let alone aid him in avoiding the slash of the whip.

His eyes searched the corners of the chamber, looking, in panic, for any possibility of escape. But there was none. As the eyes scanned, they took in what had shocked him when he'd been propelled into the stone-clad cellar. Other young men, mostly naked, were crouched along the wall, in chains that kept them imprisoned and beyond the reach of each other. In that momentary flash before Drako had clubbed him unconscious, Trent realized that these were the same young men who were the subjects of the unfinished portraits scattered about Drako's studio in the other house.

Trent had found the center of Drako's male sex-slave trade. It hit him at the same time that the portraits were being painted to advertise the men to prospective customers.

Drako was standing before him, holding up a sketch for him to see. "Do you like it? I have high-paying clientele for this sort of art."

Trent gasped and moaned. The sketch was undoubtedly of him, hanging from the ceiling, here in this stone chamber. But it wasn't of what he'd been through as yet. It evidently was of what soon was to become. A monster of a half man, half satyr, retaining many of the physical characteristics of Drako himself, including the erect beer can dick, was standing close behind the hanging body of the suspended Slave. The likeness of the slave to Trent was uncanny for a sketch so quickly made. But it was the Slave in his death throes, his head looking up at the ceiling for mercy that couldn't be found there, a look of horror on his face, eyes wide and flashing—a look of knowing that he was dead. A coal-loaded fire bucket was close at hand, a flaming hot poker in the hand of the monster, the head of the poker already plunged several inches up the Slave's ass canal.