Don was just finishing up with Jason when his phone rang.
Jason had been in his dungeon for over a month now, almost the longest time anyone had spent down there. The trouble had been finding a buyer who wanted a heavily tattooed man in his late thirties who had been used and abused for such a period. Don had done so much to Jason that he had almost gotten bored with him and was in danger of losing more money than he would like if he was there any longer. He fed his slaves on a special chow that resembled dog food and hosed them down when needed, but that was all he really spent on them. Jason had been fed and watered but hadn’t been allowed to wash since he arrived and was filthy.
The guy was however beginning to acclimatise with his new life. He slept well on the concrete floor and had learned to assume a kneeling position when Don entered. Don kept his visits irregular to confuse the occupants of how much time was passing, leaving as little as a minute or as long as a whole day between sessions. Sleeping and feeding times were also varied. Don came in and emptied the chow into a bowl rather than use a machine to do it to associate food with him and only slid it to the prisoner after they had thanked him properly. The lights were either on or off as he determined, bright enough to prevent sleep or pitch black. Some developed a fear of the dark from this, especially if he left them in pain or discomfort.
Jason had been bought by a brothel in South Africa for a low price. He would be fucked for as long as he could, maybe all his waking hours, while he was there, the black men making a profit of selling his white ass as a novelty. Eventually he would be too old or too loose to earn anything and would be thrown out onto the streets. He would be unlikely to see England again, maybe even another white man.
This was what you got for following Don from the bar and trying to beat him up for being a faggot.
Jason was naked but for the chains binding him tightly, lying in the sawdust in the coffin-like crate he would be shipped in. He was staring up at the garage ceiling, the first room he had seen other than the concrete dungeon for a long time and seemed to want to make the most of it. He was only there to be shipped out and only conscious because Don didn’t want the trip to be easy for him.
Don had been having a good night, flashing the cash from his latest sale and seducing a young buck to his place — for genuine fun, not as a victim — when this asshole had scared the kid off with his slurs. He wasn’t even drunk and thought he could take Don. Needless to say Don had taken him and would go looking for the young buck again some time soon. Even if he wasn’t destined to be a slave no one got away from Don.
Don was just sliding the lid of the crate into place, just the slave’s face showing, when his phone went. He left the lid where it was, showing how little he cared if the slave saw or heard anything, and answered.
“Beast, its Top Dog,” said the voice on the other end.
Don the Beast stood a little straighter. Top Dog was one of the overseers of the whole operation in England and was to be listened to and obeyed — or else. The name Beast had been given to him when he had taken over as the best in Brittan and he wore it proudly, snatching more men than anyone else and breaking them better too. He was also quite sure he was richer than anyone else in England too.
He had met Top Dog once when he was in training and knew he was someone to be feared. He had seen the things they did to those who slipped up and got caught and Don had been scared enough to stay on their good side whatever the cost.
“What can I do for you, Sir?” he said in his most respectful voice.
“I have a guy who needs to disappear, an American soldier who’s seen something he shouldn’t. He’s going to the Arabs, they love American soldier slaves, it’s the only time they get to be superior to us, and needs to be kept a safe distance from America when he’s broken. You up to it?”
A soldier? Don had been one himself for the British armed forces and was slightly hesitant. He had always respected his peers, had never actively sought them out even though he knew they brought in a lot of money as slaves. But this was a command, however it was worded, from the top, and he wasn’t going to refuse.
“Yes, sir, I can do it.”
“Good man, I’ll have him sent over to you tomorrow. Better bring you’re A-game, this guy will resist you.”
The best toys always did. Don hung up and stood in thought for a moment before remembering the half closed crate. Jason was staring at him, as if asking what the call had been about. He had picked up on the respect and fear in his tone and knew he had been talking to someone important. If Don had reduced him to this then what must the person who scared him be like!
Don sat on the edge of the crate and patted the slave’s head. It had been shaved on his arrival along with the rest of his body hair and thanks to a chemical solution applied regularly he would never grow a single hair on his body again. Don had really taken out his anger out on Jason, but not with fists and bruises that would heal in time. Even if he was freed now the guy would be in therapy for the rest of his life.
“You mustn’t feel too bad for crying like a little girl,” he told him. “I’ve just been asked to break and train a soldier who needs to disappear. You’ve been handled by the best.”
Jason said nothing, his mouth taped shut with what were left of his own briefs inside, soaked in piss and cum. On his cock was a chastity device that was too small and welded shut. Don thought that had made him cry the hardest when he had realised the last orgasm he had was his last — Don had given it to him while fucking him with his fist and had made sure it was completely ruined by crushing his balls as he shot as if to squeeze every last drop out. He truly looked broken and Don smiled at a job well done.
“You know what,” he checked his watch. It was 11:30 pm and the pick up van wasn’t due until gone midnight. “I think we have time for one more round. Would you like that? One last go at it before we part ways?”
Jason whimpered but didn’t move other than to screw his eyes shut. He knew there was no escape and however much he hated it he had no choice but to take it. There wasn’t much fun in fucking someone who didn’t struggle but Don needed to get off and wasn’t going to use his hand when a hole was there and free for use.
He removed the lid and easily heaved the slave over onto his front in the sawdust. His hands were chained into the middle of his back but they made no effort to stop him from smacking and fondling his ass. It was still red raw from the last paddling and marks were still there from the caning before than. He jerked and moaned in pain at the smacking and wriggled slightly. Don hadn’t trained him to be a slave, just a fuck bitch who knew this was his life now.
Don pulled out his cock from his trousers. He was impressive if he said so himself; he was just longer than average but as thick as a beer can and proud of it and his tennis-ball sized balls beneath it. He had made many men scream just by threatening them with it.
He pried the cheeks apart and spat on the hole, it was still lose from the last fucking a few hours earlier and his load was still in there. He knelt in the sawdust on either side of the slave and pushed in, feeling his own sloppy seconds as the asshole made way for him.
Beneath him Jason groaned. He had hated it at first but had learned how to find it pleasurable. It was either that or be in pain for the majority of the time.
Don thrust in and out steadily, content to take his time and his mind on the American who was on his way to his dungeon and the task he had been given. He could inflict pain on the man, torture him endlessly, but anyone could do that with a whip and a car battery. What really took skill was breaking a man in such a way to remake him how you wanted, moulding him to your desire. That was power, the ability to control another man and Don fucking loved it!
Just as he was getting close there was a knocking on his garage door and he swore. The pick up guys were here. He pulled out — ignoring the grunt of discomfort from beneath him — and stood up, storming over to the door by the garage entrance and flung it open.
“Five more minutes, I’m not done yet,” he barked.
The young delivery guy, cute but under the protection of the Snatcher Currier Service, quivered under his gaze. He was his height of six feet and with a trim build and equally trim brown hair. Clean shaven and overall looking like a catch. His eyes darted down and Don followed his gaze to see his cock was still out and hard and pointing straight at the guy. He must look just like a beast, sweaty and stinking of sex and his cock rock hard and quivering for attention. He must look like a Neanderthal.
He sighed and calmed down a little. “I’m nearly done, if you want you can have a go too while he’s still slightly tight.” He didn’t wait for an answer, just left the door open and went back to the waiting fuck-hole. He sank straight back in and went back to pounding at it, trying to get close again as quick as he could. He wondered how long the guy would wait before he got impatient and told him to let him have a go or pack it up — if he dared speak to him while he was fucking a slave he had kidnapped, broken and was selling.
He could see the delivery man out of the corner of his eye approach and stare at the Master at work as he relentlessly fucked at the ass he had made his own. Looking without moving his head Don could see the kid was hard as a rock and a spot of dampness appearing on his uniform shorts.
Jason had seen him too and has trying to raise his head and upper body to see the newcomer, no doubt hoping for a rescuer. Don grabbed his head and pulled it back to see the kid (David, his name tag read) stood by the crate and watching the show.
“You hoping this kid will help you?” Don asked. He looked up at David, “Tell him what your job is.”
David looked only a little embarrassed, it wasn’t normal for anyone other than Snatchers or Trainers to get involved with the merchandise. “When a Trainer is done with a slave it is my job to collect them and bring them to the buyer. I have six other crates with guys just like you in them in the back of my truck,” he added with a smile.
Jason whimpered in despair as his meagre hope evaporated and that pushed Don over the edge. He gave a roar as he came, deep and primal like the Neanderthal he was. It wasn’t that good an orgasm, the ass was third rate now, but he wanted to impress the kid. With a twitch the damps spot grew slightly bigger.
Don sat back and dropped Jason back into the sawdust, letting his softening length slip out between the raw asscheeks, covered in his own cum, and fixed the kid with a seductive smile. “Want a go?” Delivery guys weren’t normally allowed to touch the merchandise so Don waved his hand, dismissing the unspoken objections. “It’s fine, the buyers don’t mind, he’s going to a brothel to get bitched out, anyway.”
This was news to Jason and he moaned and wriggled as if he could still get away. Don put his hand on the back of the slave’s head and pushed down firmly like he was calming a dog. “Shhh…” he said. “No use fighting it now, it’s as good as done.” The body went still beneath him.
David rubbed at himself and looked between Don and Jason for a moment before unbuckling his belt and lowering his fly. The sound made the slave go slack in his bonds; he knew this new face, the first he had seen in a month, was about to be the second men to fuck him.
David’s penis was six inches long and about an inch wide, respectable. He pulled at it a few times to get himself ready. Don climbed out of the crate and guided the young man into position.
“No need to worry about lube,” he reassured him, “He’s all slicked up. Just go ahead and add your juice to mine.”
It was a way of giving a sense of brotherhood and comradeship to the Slaving community and giving the kid a confidence boost to fuck the slave, making him feel an illusion of equality with one of the Snatchers. Don just wanted to watch the kid fuck, see the kid try to impress him. It would amuse him to see him in action.
David sank into the ass with a sigh of pleasure and gently fucked for a few strokes to learn the position and movements. Then he picked up the pace and went at it, doing his best to make the slave feel it. He grabbed onto the chains and used them to pull him back onto his cock to meet his thrusts. Don wasn’t overly impressed but he was amused. He came with a nose that was more like a squeal than Don’s roar and he stifled a laugh. As the man finished thrusting Don noticed he was staring at his own soft cock, covered in drying cum and at about eye level and a foot or so away. The kid gave himself a little shake and pulled out and stood next to him, looking down in embarrassment as if looking at a cock like Don’s was something to be ashamed of.
Don threw an arm around David and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good job kid,” he said. “If you ever want to try something rougher, you know where I live.” He wasn’t allowed to snatch the Deliverers but he could fuck them if they came to him and begged for it. David looked at him for a split second before looking away and tucking himself away. Don was still hanging out.
Together they nailed the lid shut, leaving the slave facing down with his ass up for whoever opened the crate. Don opened the garage and, checking briefly to see if the coast was clear, they lifted the crate into the back to the truck. It was midnight and nobody was around to see the strange happenings. It would shock and surprise many to learn that not all UPS trucks were delivering mail and parcels. Some were filled with slaves in various forms of transport. It was a running joke among them all that UPS stood for Unique Personalised Slaves.
Before he climbed into the cab Don gave David a slap on the ass that made him jump and a playful smile when the kid looked back. He hoped the kid would come back, he like to know he had left an impression and had seen the flash of hunger in his eyes.
He stood to watch the truck pull way and noticed the movement in the window across the street too late. For a brief second he thought he saw the kid who lived there before he darted out of sight. Don had learned everyone in the neighbourhood when he arrived and knew the kid was called Stewart and was a scrawny kid who ogled him whenever he thought he wasn’t looking. The kid was just of legal age. Don wondered if he would need silencing. What could he have seen? Two men load a crate onto a truck in the middle of the night?
Then Don remembered: he still had his cock out, hanging, fat and limp and covered in cum in the midnight air. Rather than tuck himself in he turned and went back into his home. Maybe digging up some dirt of the kid to keep him quiet until he decided what to do with him. He lived real close and he would be a suspect if something happened. He was in a pickle.
In the meantime he put the problem aside for a more pressing issue. He had a soldier to break.
Metal would like to thank RotherhamMan for sharing this story! Read even more fiction by this author at: