0 comments/ 2261 views/ 1 favorites The Boys in the Box Ch. 34-36 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. :) ***** 34. Unbeknownst to Sunshine, a client had placed a significant holding bid on the boy. He was interested in buying Sunshine to serve as a new alpha for his pack of slaves; the man had a kennel of several obedient slaves, but his current alpha was getting a little long in the tooth. The idea of bringing a new alpha into the pack, both smaller in stature and several years younger than the master's other slaves, appealed to him, but he insisted on proof that Sunshine was up to the task. Part of that training involved doling out discipline. (I'd even heard discreet whispers that the client in question personally enjoyed being dominated by young, virile slaves. A former member of the House of Lords, the Eton-and-Oxford-educated old man would supposedly kit them out in English-style prep school uniforms and have them spank him with a ruler or even deliver a proper caning before making violent use of their master's holes. Of course I would never repeat such tawdry gossip, but I had to admit that Sunshine would look rather fetching in tight shorts, a blazer, and a schoolboy's cap.) Sunshine crept up behind Bongo and raised the whip. He proceeded to bring it down twice half-heartedly on the slave's flanks. Once could be getting a feel for the tool; twice was willful. "Sunshine! Have you ever been whipped?" "Master, yes, Master!" "Do you think that you're whipping Bongo like I've whipped you?" "Mas-" "I know the answer, boy. Do it properly or I'll strip both your hides bare. Stop when you feel that Bongo has learned his lesson, no sooner. And Bongo, I expect you to thank Sunshine for the his attention." "Master, y-yes, Master!" His lip quivering, Sunshine began to properly lay into Bongo's back and ass. CRACK! "Sunshine, thank you, Sunshine!" A tear rolled down Sunshine's face. CRACK! "Sunshine, thank you, Sunshine!" Another. CRACK! "Sunshine, thank you, Sunshine!" Sunshine gave up after twelve strokes. It was probably more than was absolutely necessary, but fewer than Bongo could have taken. A few strokes more and I'd have stopped him myself. His final stoke just barely broke skin, and a tiny rivulet of blood ran down Bongo's back. I was pleased that Sunshine took that as an appropriate signal to let up. Some masters beat their slaves bloody, but I find that rather distasteful and, frankly, indicative of poor ownership; a master who brutalizes his property in such a way either doesn't understand that a boy can be effectively controlled without being maimed, or has appetites which are unsavory, to say the least. I try to avoid business dealings with individuals of such temperament. (It of course goes without saying that, as a dealer, I am also keenly aware that any action that results in the disfigurement of my merchandise will also adversely affect my bottom line.) Despite his initial misgivings, it was apparent to me that Sunshine had a natural facility for punishment. Ignoring his tears, anyone observing the slave would notice his well-formed chest slightly puffed with pride. His recently unlocked prick, too, had grown to its full glory, standing straight up against his tight little belly. I had no doubt he would make an excellent alpha. "Good work, Sunshine. You may help Bongo down and tend to to his wounds.""Master, thank you, Master!" Sunshine cried. It was the most genuinely grateful I'd ever heard the slave. He gently pulled his brother down from the hook and slung the taller but lighter slave over his well-muscled shoulder, carrying him to the corner where I keep cabinets of ointments, bandages, unguents and painkillers. As he massaged soothing balms into Bongo's battered flesh, I turned my attention to Sparky. 35. I had given quite a bit of thought to the appropriate punishment for Sparky. I considered a simple caning or whipping, but they seemed too pedestrian. I considered leaving the boy chained up in the slaughterhouse for a few days without light, food, or water, but I was eager to begin his training and I didn't want to put any more physical stress on the merchandise. I considered fitting him with a chastity cage lined in small spikes doubly punishing his erections, but I wanted something more demonstrable and immediate. Eventually I decided on a punishment more subtle, but decidedly more painful, than simple physical discipline. At my signal, Jake rolled a projector into the middle of the room, hooked up to a laptop. He turned it on and it shone against an empty section of wall, opposite the cells and behind Sparky. I spun the boy on his hook so he could have a proper view. "I had a good look at your cell phone, Sparky. Seems like you were quiet the lady killer in your day." I began projecting a slideshow of several of the sexually explicit images he'd received from various young women in the weeks preceding his capture. I clicked through the pictures until I landed on a pretty young redhead named Erin, the girl who seemed to occupy most of his online attention. "Here we have Miss Erin Malloy. I believe you and she were quite close. Of course you'll never see Erin again, but unfortunately, neither will her family. Because as of this morning, Erin is..." I clicked the slideshow forward, revealing the same girl stripped, collared, and caged in a fashion remarkably similar to my boys. "...Rosebud! You see, Sparky, everything you do affects other people. When you disobey me, you upset me. When you upset me, you're not the only one who pays the consequences. My associate Miranda picked up Rosebud here yesterday and will be selling her soon enough, just as I will sell you. We tracked her down using the information on your phone. Just like we found information about Sarah, Mandy, Jessica, Britney..." Sparky began to sob. I clicked through the photos of other girls, until I landed on a picture of a family, young Ryan Connor smiling with his mother, father, sister, and brother. "...and the rest of your family. Your fate is sealed, Sparky. Theirs are up to you. Will you disobey me again, boy? You may speak freely," Sparky's eyes were wide. The slave whispered, "Master, no, Master." "Good boy! I believe you've learned your lesson. Keep watching. You won't want to miss this." I clicked over to an image of Erin Malloy working at her summer job, serving up cones at an ice cream parlor in Ohio. The photo had been shot yesterday morning by a private detective I keep on retainer, but she was fully clothed and free as could be. I clicked again to the first picture of Erin in the cage, juxtaposed against a picture that was identical, save for the girl's face. It was a simple cut-and-paste job. "I'm afraid I fibbed a bit, Sparky. A friend whipped that up in Photoshop as an example of what I can do. Erin, Sarah, your family - they're all as safe and as free as you used to be. For now. But try my patience, and I'll send my friends to 494 Morton Avenue. Or 9037 Chariot Drive. Or any number of other addresses where your friends and family can be found. Have I made myself clear?" "Master, thank you, Master!" cried a visibly relieved Sparky, sniffling as his tears abated. "Good," I said, helping the slave down from his hook. He collapsed to his knees in front of me. "Then suck my fucking cock." 36. Lacing my fingers through Sparky's shock of unruly brown hair, I pulled his head towards my crotch, mashing the straight boy's face against the black leather flap of my jock. The calfskin pouch was rapidly expanding against the pressure of my inflating cock, the few centimeters of leather all that separated Sparky's face from his master's member. "Worship my jock, slave. Lick." The trembling slave tentatively stuck out his tongue and licked. Slowly, even tenderly, at first, then gaining momentum as the heady essence of leather and oil and manhood filled his mouth and nose. Pushing his face deeper into my crotch, my full tumescence strained to escape and fill the slave's suckhole. "Open my jock and release your master's cock, slave." Sparky reached up with his cuffed hands, but before he could touch me I sent a sharp warning shock to his balls. "No, slave. With your mouth." I guided his face to the top corner of the pouch and bade him gently bite down where it snapped on to the strap. Pulling his head back, the leather flap popped off and my full nine inches tumbled out, slapping the quickly learning slave across the cheek, leaving a small smear of precum just under his left eye. "Kiss it, slave." Sparky recoiled involuntarily. Grabbing his jaw firmly and jerking his head up so that he could look me straight in the eye, I said, "I will not tell you again, slave. Kiss. My. Cock." The straight teen swallowed hard, then leaned in and gently kissed the tip of my manhood. "Again." He obeyed. "Now open up and start sucking. Maybe you've never sucked a cock before, maybe you've never even had that little dicklet hanging useless and locked between your legs sucked before, but I have no doubt you've watched enough porn to understand the basic mechanics. Go to." To the slave's credit, Sparky opened up and made a genuine attempt to service my cock. Being his first blowjob, it was obviously amateurish and sloppy, but he dutifully took the first several inches of my manhood into his pink mouth and suckled, bobbing his head back and forth on my meat. Now was not the moment to teach the boy proper fellatio technique; there was more than enough time for that in the months that lay ahead. This was simply an object lesson in ownership, in domination and submission, for Sparky and his brothers. And so, dispensing with subtlety, I placed my meaty hands on either side of Sparky's head, lacing my fingers through his wild hair and grabbing his adorably outsized ears like handlebars, and began to face fuck the slave in earnest, forcing more and more of my cock into his mouth and throat with each pump as he sputtered and gagged. Soon I was ready to come. I pulled Sparky's face into my crotch, thrusting my full nine inches down his straight throat and smashing his button nose into my ample bush, my pubes invading his nostrils as I unloaded my seed down his gullet. He began gagging - more than he had been, anyway - but I held him firmly in place. "Swallow, boy. Swallow it all." And he did, his undulating throat muscles massaging an extra spurt or two out of my cock. Once I had finished, I slowly disengaged, giving him ample time to suck every last drop of goo from my spit-slick member. I wiped it a few times on the slave's cheeks and hair, then put it away. To his credit, Sparky hadn't cried. What Sparky didn't know, and what I'd never reveal, is that his family and friends couldn't have been safer; one disappearance is a freak occurrence, but two is a pattern. If Erin Malloy, or Ryan Connor's little brother, or anybody that could be connected to the boy went missing a week after he did, law enforcement would be all over the case. The feds would probably get involved. It simply wasn't worth the risk when there was so much more beautiful slavemeat just waiting to be caught that had no connection to the rest of my stock. "Good boy. We'll work on your technique later, but good boy." The doors to the metal cells where the rest of the slaves were watching slid open. "You may join the others." Sparky ran to Cubby and collapsed into him, the bigger boy wrapping a thickly muscled arm around the smaller. It was a lovely sight; I'd paired them well.