4 comments/ 3473 views/ 2 favorites The Boys in the Box Ch. 28-30 By: jacksonblooms Author's Note: This story is strictly an erotic fantasy. It's not real, nor is it in any way an endorsement of the activities described. In the real world, kidnapping, forced sex, slavery, non-consensual physical and emotional abuse, and the buying and selling of human beings are morally reprehensible and I am staunchly opposed to it all. In the real world, it's important to play safe with condoms and PrEP, exclusively with consensual partners, and to respect your partners' limits and comfort. Please don't kidnap and molest straight eighteen year old boys, just enjoy this completely made-up fantasy instead. :) ***** 28. Forty-five minutes in, my slaves were still going strong. Each of the older boys had come at least twice; the Viagra-spiked chow I'd been feeding them over the past several days meant that they had more stamina than I'd normally expect from a bunch of horny eighteen-year-olds. The slaves on the receiving end of the morning's festivities were doing admirably, as well. Pollo was now taking Tiny's gargantuan meat with gusto, bucking himself into the larger slave's thrusts as much as the bench would allow, and had come twice, his brown, uncut six inches spraying hot slave seed all over the fuck bench. Cinnamon and the twins had eventually let loose as well, the pounding on their prostate eventually overriding their discomfort and anger. Only Sparky hadn't come, and the look of defiance in his eyes, even while he moaned under Cubby's attention, made me suspect he was just being obstinate. "That's enough, boys; I need my new stock to be able to walk, after all," I called out with a good-natured chuckle. The boys reluctantly pulled out and set to work slurping their own seed out of each new boy's asshole. When they'd finished, faces slick with spit, sweat, and spunk, I called them over to stall twelve. "Now, boys, I think Awol is feeling a little left out," I remarked, casually stroking his spine, feeling his well developed lats, traps, and deltoids tensing angrily at my touch. "Luckily for him, I think you boys might have a little bit left in you. Do you, boys?" "Master, YES, Master!" came their hearty response. "Well, that's what I like to hear. When we first met, Awol here informed me that he 'doesn't go in for that gay shit.' Lucky for him you're all straight, right boys?" "Master, yes, Master!" "Well I'm sure he'll find that quite a relief. You'll each get your turn, but perhaps JoJo would like to do the honors of christening this cunt?" I lead the blond slave by his leash to the half-Asian boy's anus, and JoJo wasted no time giving Awol's tight pink asshole a thorough tongue bath before rising and impaling him on his full eight inches. I didn't bother removing his leash; he had more than enough slack, and there's something I find very appealing about holding onto a slave's bonds as he dominates a bitch. I love to watch JoJo fuck. He really pounds with an animal intensity, completely devoid of mercy. Honestly, between the two of us, I'm a much gentler partner, so I can only attribute his violence to raw instinct. With Awol's buzz cut, there was no hair to grab onto, one of JoJo's preferred methods of manhandling his bottoms. Instead, JoJo leaned in and worked his muscled arms under Awol and around his torso, working with the tight bit of leeway the bonds of the bench allowed. He pinched and twisted on Awol's nipples and scratched at his tits while he pounded away, his well-defined abdominal muscles rippling as he humped in seeming defiance of physics. I ungagged Awol, letting his stream of obscenities wash over me like a warm Spring shower until he went suddenly quiet; JoJo's furious pummeling on the boy's prostate led to the newly-christened slut's balls unloading their cargo all over the back of the bench in record time, just as JoJo unloaded inside him, collapsing on top of the panting teen, biting down on the slave's neck and shoulders as he came (that habit he did pick up from me.) There was no need to clean Awol out after JoJo was done, as one after another, the five slaves in line took their turn at Awol's asshole, with nothing but their spit, sweat, and semen to lube him up. Once there were six loads of slave spunk shot up the teen's twat, I allowed Icarus the "pleasure" of sucking his hole clean. The straight slave on the bench, perfectly free only a few days earlier, looked, if not broken, at least beaten. His formerly unblemished skin was covered in small purple bruises up and down his back and hips where his big brothers had held tight for balance and stability, his ass a bright red where they'd accentuated their thrusts with hearty slaps, his back criss-crossed in small red lines where they'd scratched in the throes of passion. Where they'd at least attempted a level of gentleness with the other boys, for Awol there was only raw animal fucking, each of the boys trying to rise to the level of JoJo, their alpha. Jake and Tyson began removing the mirrors from the fronts of the stalls. It was just about eight AM. Normally, my stock would be cleaned, fed, and beginning their day's training, but after the early morning fuck marathon, I decided the big boys could all use a rest. I sent them back to their stalls for a brief nap, and turned my attention to the fresh meat still bound before me. 29. "I hope you boys enjoyed your first taste of our world-famous hospitality," I called out to the six teenage slaves bound before me. "Soon you will be released from your benches and fed. Some of you are no doubt considering making a break for it. This would be extremely foolish. Even without the extensive fortifications and relative isolation of this compound, I am confident asserting that you would not make it ten feet from your bench before being immobilized in the most painful way imaginable. I take no pleasure in damaging my property, so please, for both our sakes, do not test my patience. "There are a few house rules that I would like to take a moment to impress upon you. First of all, the stalls in front of you are your new homes. When you are not being trained or otherwise made use of, you will spend your time here, in your stall, in the stables. You may not realize it right now, but you are extremely fortunate; very few owners are as generous as I am. Many slaves like you are kept crowded in pens like pigs in a sty. "Second, you are never to speak unless explicitly instructed or questioned. I've graciously allowed your little outbursts up till now, but I will not be so lenient going forward. Until further notice, the only words you are permitted to say are 'Master, thank you, Master!' Am I understood?" Silence. Of course. I pulled out my iPhone and casually pressed a button on the new brood's collective profile. Immediately the six boys in front of me bucked at their bonds and screamed at the pain of ten thousand volts delivered to their freshly shorn balls. As I released my finger, their screams ceased, replaced with sighs and a few sobs. "That, boys, was a 'two.' I doubt any of you would like to feel a five, much less a ten. I will ask again, and I strongly advise you answer. Am I Understood?" "Master, thank you, Master!" came the sixfold reply, less enthusiastic than one would like, but certainly an improvement over silence. "Very good. All that is required of you is your complete and utter obedience. Obey, and you will be happy. Disobey, and you will suffer. As previously indicated, I am your master. I am to be addressed as such and only as such. My assistants here are Misters Jake and Tyson," I announced, indicating to the men standing on either side of me, Jake with his traditionally Scandinavian good looks and Tyson with skin almost as black as his leathers. Each of them towered well over six feet, looking every inch like a Tom of Finland illustration. Had I met either of them when they were younger, things might have turned out distinctly differently for the two hunks. "You are to address them as Mister Jake and Mister Tyson, or as 'sir.' You are to obey them as you would obey me, which is to say completely and without question. They have complete authority over you as my proxies, and they will be an integral part of your training as you go from from straight, free men into eager, owned sluts. Am I understood?" A beat. And then, "Master, thank you, Master!" A little louder this time. Good. "Excellent. While we are on the subject of names, there is one more thing I must impress upon you. I have been gracious enough to give each of you a name, and from this moment forth it is the only name which you will respond to or acknowledge. Soon enough you will learn to think of yourself only as Sparky, or Flopper, or whatever I have named you. You won't believe it now, but some day you will even forget your free boy name. In the meantime, should any of you attempt to share your former name with anyone, slave or free, I will know." I paused. "And you will be punished," I said, stretching each word into its own sentence. "Am I perfectly clear?" "Master, thank you, Master!" "Misters Jake and Tyson are going to collect sperm samples now; some of my clients may be interested in purchasing you for milking purposes, and it's important to make sure your seed is suitable. I suggest that you enjoy this as much as you can; after collection, it will be quite some time before you have the opportunity again. I own those pathetic little peckers and they are to be used only at my pleasure." In order to expedite my assistants' task, I set the boys' rings to a low vibration; by the time they approached the boys for milking, each cock was rock hard and leaking like a faucet. Each boy bucked a bit against his bonds at the sensation of a man's rough hands around his member, but only Flipper was stupid enough to voice his objections; a quick jolt to his testicles shut him up quickly enough. Once the collection was complete, I personally set to the task of securing my new property; it was important the boys understood precisely to whom their cocks and balls truly belonged. I cut off the vibration to their spent packages and their slave meat quickly began to deflate. Awol inherited Tiny's custom cage. While his meat was not quite as impressive as Tiny's at full mast, measuring only nine and three quarters inches, it was nearly as large as Tiny's when flaccid and as such fit into the steel crucible like Cinderella's foot into her glass slipper. Cinnamon's endowment was also not extravagant like Tiny's, but was large enough to suit a pony; at eight and a half inches hard and just over six inches soft, it would look beautiful flopping about as he carried his master hither and yon; for now it fit snuggly into a slightly oversized cage. The other slaves all had more or less average endowment, fitting comfortably into their off-the-rack cages. 30. Jake and Tyson unshackled the slaves from their benches and unceremoniously tossed the boys to the dirt floor of the stables. Awol and Sparky attempted to stand when they were released, but my assistants made short work of pushing them back down to their rightful place at our feet. To their credit, none of the slaves attempted to run; several had in the past, most recently Icarus, but apparently this batch was quicker on the uptake. I made my way to the trough and filled it with a bucket of the slop that would make up almost the entirety of the boys' diet while they were in my care. I chose a bucket laced with Viagra; the fact that the boys were denied even the ability to achieve a full orgasm would make their erotic overdrive that much more poignant. A horny slave is an obedient slave. "This is where you will eat. Every morning and every evening you will feed at this trough. You will not use your hands; rather you will lap up your food like the livestock you are. Here, Sparky, it's time for breakfast," I announced, beckoning the young slave over. When he did not immediately begin crawling, I gave him a short, sharp shock to the balls. He fell forward and yelped. "I had hoped you would you remember the name I so lovingly bestowed upon you, Sparky. In case any of the rest of you forget, I'm happy to keep reminding you. Now, come, have your breakfast." The slave crawled forward to the trough. I called each of his brothers by name, and they seemed to have learned from his mistake, crawling forward as soon as they were summoned. When all six were at the trough, I gave them permission to eat. It warmed my heart to see the six newborn slave pups lap up the grey gruel in front of them like it was ambrosia; presumably the combination of a three-day fast and the fear of punishment allowed them to appreciate the tasteless slurry more than even they could imagine. When they were finished feeding, each of my handsome little slaves was covered from nose to chin in the slurry, dripping down their necks and chests like so much sperm. They looked content, in spite of themselves. They were quickly learning to respond to baser instincts that their modern, free experience had trained them to take for granted: pain, pleasure, hunger, thirst. Soon these would be all that mattered. It was nearly ten AM and my older boys had been napping for two hours. Jake and Tyson roused them as I walked back to their stalls, my six new slaves trailing behind. "Good morning, boys! It's time to take your little brothers on a tour of the facilities, but first I'm afraid they've made rather a mess of themselves at breakfast. Each of you is to assist your little brother with his morning ablutions; I want each and every one of you showered, shaved, and rinsed out in forty-five minutes. Come and claim your charges!" As the five slaves scurried over and retrieved the boys they'd fucked not three hours prior, Awol was left alone. I unleashed JoJo and bade him take care of the little foundling. The older, more experienced slave wasted no time getting the halfbreed in line. As a rule, the more experienced slaves help the new boys with their grooming for the first week of their training; I had the feeling Awol would be taking care of himself much sooner than that. JoJo was efficient, but not gentle. As I discussed the day's schedule with Jake and Tyson, I couldn't help but take a moment to drink in the exquisite sight before me. There, not twenty feet away, were eleven eighteen-and-nineteen year old boys, lathering each other up, shaving each other's balls and cracks, shoving hoses up each other's holes to prepare their pussies for the pleasure of free men. There before me were eleven grown men, nearly a ton of human flesh, that belonged to me. In a few weeks the boys would be splashing and laughing as they prepared themselves for the day ahead. This morning, though, was all business, big brothers teaching their little brothers what was expected of them. In a way, it was even sweeter.