*This is one of my darker stories. On the level of 'The Bottom Tier', or possibly a notch lower.
You have been exhaustively warned at this point. So if you don't like it, take a hike. I'm a little sick of making excuses for myself at this point.
If you are a fan, then thank you, for staying with me. Thank you for reading my stories, and thank you for heeding my warnings.
All Characters are 18+*
The man was completely ordinary.
A bit shorter than average, with a bit of a pot belly. He had a receding brown hairline and an ordinary face. He was about forty. Even shorter than average, he was half a head taller than me.
This completely ordinary man was staring at me with a thoughtful expression. I looked down at the ground between my feet. The heater had been turned off. I was cold.
"I don't know how you do it, Rudy." He said. I heard his shoes clicking on the floor, and I took a tiny step back. My heel bumped into the wall. I was as far back as I could go. I felt his hand clenching my jaw, turning my face back and forth. I kept my eyes fixed on the ground. Waiting for the touch to go away.
"Training. You just gotta get them into the right mindset. It's not hard, with the right tools. They train easier than horses."
He let go of my chin, and I let my head droop back until my chin was touching my chest. I was grateful for the withdrawn touch. Until I saw his hand coming, and I only had half a second to tense up.
I let out a pained whimper when he cradled my balls and penis in one hand, squeezing and fondling, like he was feeling a plum for bruises. I buried my face in my arm, moaning until he stopped.
"First male I've ever seen that still has his junk. He's real trained, wont complain or talk, unless you ask... look at his patches, not too many or too few and--"
"You don't have to sell me, Rudy."
They bickered. I stood, and dragged my left foot in little circles on the concrete. I was so bored, so scared. I didn't know that it was possible to feel both of those at the same time, but I did.
I was sold to the completely ordinary man for thirty thousand dollars.
Nelson was the one who manhandled me down from where I was chained. I did whatever he wanted. I was too tired, and too badly cowed. I walked behind the completely ordinary man with my hands cupped over my crotch, and with Nelson's hand on my shoulder.
I cringed when they opened the barn door. The draft hit me like a solid wall. My nipples peaked, my skin rashed into goosebumps. My sensory patches stung, my eyes watered. I took two small steps back, before Nelson just picked me up.
He carried me outside. My body curled up tight in his meaty arms. I was letting out frantic mews of hurt and cold. I was barely aware of my surroundings.
Suddenly I was dropped into a nest of warmth, and closed off.
I shivered piteously for a few minutes before my muscles could unclench enough for me to look around. It was pitch black, but I could tell that I was in the trunk of a small car. The trunk was padded with pillows and blankets. I could feel a fat rubber pouch filled with hot water. It was warm. I hugged it to my chest, and then put it by my feet.
I bundled myself in blankets, making a cocoon. I could feel warm air coming through the thick wall separating the trunk from the backseat of the car. I felt as the car started to move.
The motion was soothing. I was covered in warmth, wrapped in real soft blankets. It felt so good. Maybe things would be better with him. At the same time, I felt motion sickness starting to set in.
It was going to be a long ride.
---
When the trunk opened, I leaned out and finally released the buildup of nausea. I had desperately tried not to vomit inside the enclosed space. Afraid of the discomfort it would bring, but even more afraid of the punishment. I leaned out of the car, dimly aware that I didn't feel the harsh outside air on my skin. I leaned out and a gush of acidic mush leaked between my lips. I heard a disgusted grunt, but I was too sick to take notice.
I felt a hand on the back of my neck. Cold from the outside air. Holding my head still as I puked. It wasn't a comforting hold, he wasn't holding me up or trying to get my hair out of my face. Just holding me still.
I finished up. I spat a few times, and breathed raggedly. I looked down at the shallow brown puddle on the slick concrete floor of what was some kind of garage. The air was cold, but it didn't have the deadly edge of the outside air. I couldn't look to either side, because my hair was in the way and he was keeping me still.
"You finished? You want to yark up some more?"
I weakly shook my head.
"Okay then."
He dragged me out of the car. I tried to grab the blankets, but they slipped out of my fingers.
I cried out and stars rocketed in front of my eyes. Somebody had hit me on the side of the head. I felt dizzy, and I felt the pain radiating out from the spot in a big throb.
"Walk straight ahead of you. Through that door, no funny business."
We were in a garage. A single car, dusted with melting snow, the other side was filled with some junk. A lawn mower. A pair of skis, and boots. A ladder, an array of power tools. A coiled hose. Ordinary things. Even having lived an abnormal life, I was able to recognize how ordinary everything was.
I put my hand on the doorknob, and it slid open. We were in a kitchen. A perfectly ordinary kitchen. I was naked, but the windows were all covered by metal shutters from the outside.
It was warm.
I flinched as he put his hand on my shoulder, firmly leading me to a door straight ahead of me. "Open the door." He commanded. I did.
Stairs. Long and down and narrow.
I went down, clutching the rail. The stairs were so steep. I felt like I was being swallowed by the earth. I felt small, and numb.
At the bottom of the steps, a tiny basement, clean, stacked with some old belongings. Boxes of books and old toys and clothes.
"Move that wall."
I turned back to look at him. Not sure what he was talking about. I flinched as I saw his hand moving towards me, but I wasn't able to do much to avoid him. I cried out at the vicious blow. I hunched over, touching the burning side of my face. He had a ring on his hand. I could feel the blood from the cut in my cheek.
"That!"
He pointed to a tall square of plywood leaning against the wall. It was behind a few boxes.
I went over, holding my fingers over the stinging cut, tasting my blood with the patches on my fingers. I shoved the plywood section over to the side.
Behind it, another door. This one was thick and squat, made of metal, with a number pad on the side, and a thick bolt running to either side. Like a prison door, or a safe.
He punched something on the number pad, with his hand on the back of my neck.
I flinched, whimpering under my breath, as the bolt made a loud sound, the metal bars going back into the bolt on the door. He pushed the door open and dragged me with him.
I saw a lattice of bars against the wall. He dragged me. I saw that he had put a cage within a cage. Inside this soundproof, code-locked room he had put up a wall of bars to lock me behind.
He shoved me in, and I fell to my knees on something soft. I heard him close the door, and lock it. I looked back, and he was looking back down at me.
"I have somewhere I need to be. I expect you to be ready for me."
He pushed a painted wooden box under the bars.
Then he left.
---
