No Mercenary

By A Lost Boy

You might have questioned my state of mind as I pricked my index finger with a lancet, printing my identity onto a foot-long contract in the passenger seat of a man’s car I’d met via Craigslist.

You might have even pitied me upon reading the terms of agreement in question.

But I can assure you… I was sober within this act & without the haze of lust; in possession of every of my facilities.

Until recently, I was the posterchild for privileged. The kind of guy who wears a tie to smart-casual. An Oxford Alumni, willing to kiss whomever ass required to rise up through the ranks… a real piece of shit in hindsight.

I deserved this, my thoughts declared as I peeped over the first edition document towards the driver with a sinister grin; the sinister grin, I had misread as welcoming. A movie star smile with a twist, carved amongst a sea of hedge-cut facial hair.

I remember admiring the man of forty, a sharp nose; an equally as sharp chin under there somewhere. He donned a full-set of salt & peppered hair, cropped with precision.

“Are you certain?” The man said with words unambiguous as I handed over the parchment.

I nodded my head invoking a displeased look upon his face.

“Are you certain?” He said once again.

A deer in the headlights, my reply a puzzled expression.

“We aren’t to proceed until you verbalise a response…”

“I am certain.” I complied as I revoked my breath.

The man nodded his head before rolling up the document, placing it in his pocket.

In about a quarter of a second his mass was holding me together with the strength of ten men; a straitjacket.

I tried to scream between his fingers… under gargantuan hands, clasping my entire head.

His spare was rummaging in the glove box, the clatter of steel could be heard – all the while his gaze suspended my own.

I could feel him reaching at my groin, unbuckling my belt, tearing away at my fly so effortlessly.

To reiterate, I’d signed away my identity via contractual agreement. Despite the hysterics, this was to a degree choreographed, albeit slightly overzealous on his part.

Anybody would question my integrity, but I was an educated person. And nobody should be encumbered with such a magnitude of anxiety as I. I believed myself to be worthless. An insecure mess. Somebody gifted with a head start in life only to of forsaken it. My family were great to me, and so were my friends. But much like a flame suspended below the centre of a page, the intensity of my emotions had devoured my surroundings from the inside out.

Its latest victim was to have been that person of persons whom I’d of shared a lifetime together without second thought. His name had been Jack & he was and always will be my soul-mate.

After what felt like more months than a year could carry, I declared my love for this man only to be decimated by his response. Unable to verbalise what was clear in his heart, he chose to kill me slowly instead of kill me with a kindness. Our time would often be cut short, and remain only in the bedroom. I felt like a schoolboy the way he spoon-fed his love.

It wasn’t long until my pain manifested. I’d lash out, although I’d never leave. A masochist essentially.

Between his cowardice & my stubbornness we’d devolved from the head of a rose into the thorns below, relentlessly hurting one another but perpetually intertwined.

I digress. Circumstance intervened and that was the end of that. Without him I was nothing, then nothing I would be.

A very physical jolt welcomed, and anchored me back into true reality.

My new owner’s hand slid off my wet face & collapsed into a hard slap before crushing my cheeks together. He relinquished his grip down below in order to point into my face.

“Not a fucking word, boy.” He said with words absolute. I must have been mumbling. My heart proceeded to thrashed around in my chest.

He proceeded to dress my flaccid cock in steel. I’ll remember that click always, and forever.

It was strange. He quite literally dropped me back into my seat post struggle, to which he too relaxed into his own.

With a glance down below, I grimaced. My vision darted back up at my captor who was dangling a key in front of me.

In what felt like slow motion he withdrew his hand, wound down the window with the other and cast it out into the street. There’s no going back now.

We drove off into the night in Earth-shattering silence. Endless winding roads devoid of ambient light. I’d almost dozed off when he hit the brakes. I was jolted out from some semblance of bliss, back into the nightmare that was my life.

Although ambivalent, I was more than prepared to engage in the final chapter of this nasty little black book of dark tales. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the remedy to my woes. I was no longer fit to handle my own destiny, and so somebody else would take the wheel. They couldn’t do a worst job than I.

He stepped out of the vehicle, and suggested I copy.

As I crumpled out like Bambi on ice, the man met at the door of the car. Perhaps mistrusting me to follow…

He gave me a moment to collect myself, and take in the view. We were at a lake house made up of fine mahogany, not a neighbourhood for miles.

I was ushered up his driveway and into his home.

I closed the door behind me, stealing another moment before I turned around.

“Put this on.” He demanded, handing me a leather collar complete with buckles.

As I turned around I left the old me at the door. I reached for the collar & proceeded to wear it.

“I am Sir as of now, you understand?” His hands a vice either side of my face. His gaze scooped up my own. I nodded.

“Follow me” he gestured, leading me down a hallway. I put the thick stench of cigar smoke & the roaring laughter of a party leaking out from a closed door in farthest corner of my mind.

My knees began to rattle like ceramics on a shelf during an earthquake.

He moved a faux wooden panel from the wall, gesturing at me to read what was engraved, and so I did, compartmentalising that too. He stared through me, awaiting what I knew was an inevitable nod.

Behind the panel was a vault style door leading down into a cellar.

Sir seized a hold of either shoulder, proceeding to steer me down the stairs.

“March!” He demanded.

At the bottom of the stairs, I glanced upon a tall & narrow room lined with bars either side. He pointed into the centre of the room by a work bench, urging me to head over. To which of course I did.

I kept a close eye on Sir as he strolled the long way around the space towards me, caressing the bars as he did. There was snivels. There was whispers. There was scurrying.

Scissors out from under his tool belt, he approached me directly.

Without hesitation he began to immaculately undress me with the blade, starting with my sweater. His other hand was groping at himself beneath his grubby work gear.

The wool brushed down my nipples as he peeled it from my soaked frame. He detoured, giving them both a firm pinch. A chuckle would follow.

He paused, resting his thumb under his chin.

“Hmm.” He pondered, all bug eyed & amped.

He traced around my body with his hands, across my hips, twirling me around to face the bench. I felt a burst of raw emotion, excitement, before a being folded over the work bench, my cheek spread out across the wooden surface. A rainbow of sweat, musk and colognes were abundant within the grain.

I felt his bison grip return once again as he whipped away my belt. He continued to pull down my trousers with my underwear seamlessly. I shuddered as he muttered the word “Nice”, before giving my other cheek a hard slap.

He pried them apart and began to tsk.

“You’ve got an inconsiderate amount of hair, don’t you boy?” He asked.

I replied with half a “Mhm” punctuated with gulps.

“M-HM?” He mocked. “MHM WHAT?”

There was a brief pause. I knew what he desired. For a moment, I questioned giving it to him. I could almost feel him staring down at his watch, patronising & militant before I buckled… “I meant yes, yes SIR, sorry SIR” I whimpered.

“GOOD BOY!” He cackled.

Sir pulled off my shoes and continued to peel away my trousers. I felt the comfort & warmth of my thick & festive socks stolen away and replaced by the cold, hard cobbles. A gift from Jack when things were at their best.

Sir suspended my left foot in the air. I could feel his nose shovel its way between my toes. “Nice,” he repeated.

There I was. Ass in the air, sprawled over a table as a grown man peered into my hole. If you could only see me now father, I thought.

The cranking of a faucet, water pooling into a metal bucket, followed by the absolute of a razor sliding between my crack barraged my body with shivers. Up & down. Side to side. The whimpers had become a reflex in which he adored.

Sir was far from finished as he journeyed from my hole, down my taint and around my cock & balls with the whimsy of Salvador Dali.

My head turned as far as my neck would allow so my peripheral could continue to spectate.

The flush of embarrassment was still fresh when I realised what he was doing… I could see the fluorescent lights reflect off something phallic, something metal & smooth being fitted onto a hosepipe. Icy streams began to sputter.

This was a first for me, something I was hoping to share with Jack. It slid in without a hiccup. In & out. In & out. A couple more times before being held in place. I refrained from gasping. The temperature, unforgiving.

There was a relentless gushing of water enveloping my insides, a profound experience in its own. The uncertainty of what to do afterward even more so.

“Go ahead,” he said, holding the bucket below my rear. There aren’t any words to describe the shame I felt as I relinquished control of my bowels. By now there was just as much gushing out of my eyes…

After several more flushes, his attention had returned to the rest of me as he collected my wrists into cuffs. He proceeded to tie my dishevelled mane into a ponytail, pulling me to my feet with it as he did.

I was given the tour de torture from every corner. It was a welcome reprieve meeting my newfound family. The lost boys. All sixteen of them behind bars. Quivering & alone. It was a comfort knowing not only I had forfeited my old life in search of peace.

We approached my very own cell at the end of the room. It was furnished with a cot, lavatory & sink.

I was spun around to face Sir before I could let myself in. He held in his hands a kind of compact in which he separated into two, invoking many ribbons of steam to dance into the air.

It was some sort of stamp. The Fight or flight phenomenon threw me back against the bars as he proceed to brand me with my new name.

“#17” He declared, He proceeded to smudge charcoal from the other half of the device onto the text, defining the number. My facial muscles ached from all the twisting, and contorting. The pain was both liberating, and formidable.

Continuing the tour de torture, Sir led me to a stable area at the back of the room. There was a sequence of elevated wooden huts lined with fresh hay. To what end I have no idea, irony? Inside were the rears of several peers. I was barraged by a myriad of flashbacks to Uncle Tom’s ranch back in rural Louisiana.

It wasn’t long before Sir ushered me into the only spare. I was gestured into the hut by my deviant tour guide who proceeded to stop me during my surrendered approach, reaching into his tool belt.

He pulled out from it an immaculate red ball, smirking as he hovered across from my chapped lips.

“Do you want it?” He hissed.

“Yes” I answered, bashful.

We exchanged an intense stare before he fitted it into my mouth like a mould. A singular tear nestled within my lashes, disturbed.

He continued to stare into me with that now-revered grin as he fastened the leather strap around my head. I remember the strain of my tongue as it attempted to reject the accessory in reflex. An empathic impossibility to say the least. It fell into a kind of nook in which its effectiveness grew.

“There!” He said, performing a dust off motion with his hands.

“Despite your new verbal handicap, you’ll answer me when required. Understood?”

I muffled at him the answer he was looking for. I was then gestured into the vacant hut.

Within, my head rested on a shelf where a monitor overlooking the dungeon had been set up.

I felt him unsheathe my withered cock. The throwing out of the key had been merely a maniacal charade to shatter morale, and to induce complacency I guess.

I craned my neck in order to see what was going on below me. I’d of been on all fours if my hands weren’t in bindings behind my back… my only support was the shelf & my battered knees. The splinters…

My discomfort shortly ignited into anxiety as I fixated on the device being set up. A pumping device of sorts, I felt a sharp flash of agony as the fastening secured around the head of my penis. A tube was then threaded into my urethra leading to an empty pocket.

He revved the device causing it to chug…  I was his new Maserati. The device continued to surge; vibrating relentlessly.

Dare I say, it felt fucking good? I slobbered over the ball in ecstasy causing him to laugh hysterically.

“Cute little cunt aren’t you?” He mocked.

“Yes, Sir!” I mumbled.

“Time to drain them stores boy!” He laughed. “We need to make room for a healthier strain.”

I moaned my protest as he pricked at my ass. Not even my gag was able to muffle my squeal.

“Relax, boy. It’s just a shot of essential vitamins. You’ll receive a weekly shot, and a daily portion of fruit & veg four times a week. You will fast the other three.”

That didn’t sound half bad. Despite growing up in a family home in which we were all overly fed by a loving mother, I wasn’t much of an eater… and for some reason knowing I was being preserved in one way or another wrapped me in a safety.

“I’ll be back shortly. Not a single drop goes to waste, you hear me boy?” He said with a slap of my ass. There was a mild intrusion to follow.

“When you aren’t in use, you are plugged.”

I watched through the monitor as he made his way into the centre of the dungeon once again.

For a mere moment he stood, pondering before attending an occupied cell. He proceeded to unlock the door, gesturing for whomever to approach.

A brother of mine, olive-skinned & beautiful. Sir led him over to the table, scooping him up on arrival and laying him down on his back. He threw #16’s legs over his shoulders, it was impossible to ignore the member falling out from within his overalls. Sir proceeded to fuck the tight young stud, inducing moans & groans of biblical calibre.

Sir shot me a look, directly through the monitor as the machine vacuum pumped my seed into its vessel. My first & last load as a free man. You could hear the thick creamy streams being slurped through the tube and accumulate into the pocket. The euphoria was also biblical.

After Sir released his own into the slave, he wielded himself the hose once again, leaving the boy gasping for air on the table. He proceeded to glide up and down the aisles hosing down his other captives.

The aged, iron hinges of the cellar door folding, broke him out of his trance.

A dark figure made its way into the centre of the room.

There was something about them. The hair on my neck erected, like a familiar presence had been detected by my subconcious. They remained in disguise, and I couldn’t hear their conversation.

Sir embraced the figure, throwing his arm over their shoulder and walking them over to the stable. I felt a nagging pinch at the bottom of my gullet. It was as though it was sealing shut, and I struggled to swallow the viscous build-up of saliva. I was nervous for the first time in a long time.

I shuffled as much as my bindings would grant me. Sweat leaked from every pore. Sir’s commanding tone distilled into earshot with grace.

“Like I said over the phone, you can have as much fun as you want within the vicinity for $25, if you’d like to take it home however, its double. And if you fancy it for keeps it’s a straight $500, not a cent less.”

The mysterious phantom standing by my stall was nodding. I was desperate to hear their voice.

“What’ll it be?” Sir enquired.

They sauntered on over, grasping tightly a hold of my cheeks. I grew frantic. He pried open as Sir had done before shooting what appeared to be a shaken, but stern look of shock at Sir, to which he shrugged.

“They’re all cleansed & prepared within an hour of purchase, not a single hair.” Sir said, nonchalant.

And then the figure reached into their jacket, and turned their back on me. They pulled off their hood, handing an unknown currency over to Sir.

“A pleasure doing business, I’ll have him boxed & ready ASAP” Sir said full of glee, tucking away the money into his tool belt.

The figure proceeded to leave the room.

I’m not sure if it was the continuous assault on my emotions or the physical endeavour of it all but I slept the entirety of the journey towards my new life. I was occasionally awoken by a bump in the country road, or the radio.

There wasn’t more than shadows & shapes in line with my sight, secured in irons & tucked away within an oversized wooden coffin.

After we arrived, I was maneuverer from the trunk of my owner’s car into another area. The journey had felt like forever. I could hear the drill unwind the nails of my crate, the tumbling of the lid as it hit the floor.

When the dust settled I could make out a silhouette, peering into the crate, crouched. I strained & strained, attempting to buffer a clearer image to no avail.

It wasn’t until they spoke did I have absolution.

“Hello, lover.”

My ears pricked, and with that I knew I was home.


Metal would like to thank A Lost Boy for this story!

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