Tag: slave auction

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The duel was over. Centrus had won. He sheathed his sword and strode up to the slave bound to a pole. Behind him, the healers were tending to his opponent left bleeding in the ring on the floor. Centrus still wondered if not killing that asshole was the right thing to do, considering he’d bribed a judge and robbed Centrus out of what was rightfully his – but at least now people thought he himself was merciful. And a lot of people had been there. Not everyday a warrior challenges another over the ownership of a slave. Usually it’s over a woman of high standing or something. Centrus the Merciful, Challenger of Slaves, had a certain ring to it anyhow.

Centrus paused in front of his new property and lifted the trembling boy’s chin with his thumb. “Don’t panic, little one. You’re safe now, because you are mine. I won’t neuter you, which is illegal anyway. I won’t whip you. I won’t starve you. When I sheath my cock in you, it won’t cause you any pain. Only the sweetest pleasure. You should be happy little one, as you have been spared from cruelty.”
The slave began to weep and Centrus clucked. He ordered the naked boy taken down so he could carry him back to his chariot. It was time to take home his prize and clean him up and see what was under all of that dirt.

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Captions are fictional.

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mastera6:

A young pet.

“Aww, you look so frightened. My poor pet. The first few days are always so scary. Don’t you worry, I’m not going to torture you and lock you in a cage downstairs. That is, unless you want me to.” His eyes go wide. I try not to laugh at how easily he scares.
“You must be hungry. That was a long trip to my home from the auction center wasn’t it? Ah, you nodded. Haven’t found your voice yet hm? We’ll work on that. Well, lucky for you I made some pork congee last night. You probably don’t know what that is. It’s like Chinese comfort food, but once you add bok choy, it’s also perfect pet food – protein, vegetables, rice.“ I take a portion out of the fridge and put into his bowl, then pop it into the microwave. “Now some Masters don’t heat up their pet’s food, but honestly cold congee is disgusting and I wouldn’t wish that anyone, not even a pet.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see a teeny smile. “Thank you Sir,” he says oh-so-softly.
“Good boy,” I say gently in return with nod. He shifts. It must be hard for him to sit on the floor, with how boney his butt is. I make a note to get him a pillow so he can sit on the floor next to my chair at breakfast. “After you eat, I’m going to groom you – bath, hair, nails. You desperately need a haircut. Then, I’ll give you your wardrobe, show you your quarters, give you a tour… so much to do.” The microwave beeps. I take out the congee and stir it, then pop it back in.
“Maybe we’ll go on a walk so you can stretch your muscles. I’ll guide you through dinner, and then perhaps if you’re not falling asleep we can start on your first Mandarin lesson?”
He blinks owlishly.
“You were told I live in Shanghai and Hong Kong December through February right?”
“No Sir,” he responds.
I raise an eyebrow. “Huh. Well, I do. And I expect you to be able to communicate with my guests and serve their needs there too.” The microwave dings again. “Ah there we go.” I set the bowl down and fill a matching tin cup with water. I can hear his stomach growl from here. “Now you will have to earn your silverware, but you knew that. Let me get a cushion from the living room for your knees though. I don’t want bruises on you.” I fetch the flattest one I can find from the sofa.

I crouch next to him and set it down, then unlock his hand cuffs. “There you go. Eat up boy. Don’t worry about a mess. You’re getting a bath when you’re done anyway.”
He licks his lips. “Thank you Sir.”
I pat him on the head. “Good pet. I like that you know respect and manners. Saves me from having to break you in. Now, eat, eat. You don’t want it to get cold.”

I stand back and watch him bring the bowl to his face and eat. I then fold my arms. “Hm, now to come up with a name for you…”

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Text is fictional.

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The slave lifts its head. He hears footsteps coming up the creaky, wooden stairs. They’re heavy and boot-clad. Instinctively, the slave turns itself in the uncomfortable cage so that he’s on all fours, head down, eyes down. The boots stop at the landing.
”Now that’s what I like to see,” booms a bass voice. The man walks forward. The slave startles a little when a big hand smacks the top of the cage.
”I figgered you had enough time up here, boy. I just want to make clear what happens if you disobey me. I don’t go right for the whip. Instead, I put you up in the Cage, up here, in the dark even during the brightest days, where it’s drafty and the mice run ‘round. And you will still stay here until your attitude changes. I find that’s the best deterrent to loose behavior ‘round here. The other slaves will tell you as much. How long you think you were in there boy? Permission to speak.”
The slave works its dry mouth. “Thank you, Sir. An hour…? An hour and a half maybe?”
The man gave hoarse chuckle. “Try twenty-five minutes.”
The slave was silent.
“Now you get it. You gonna be a good boy, Sir?”
”I’m going to be a very good boy, I promise!”
”That’s what I like to hear. Now let’s get you watered and washed off. I want to inspect you. Damn slavetraders always try and cover up pro’lems with dirt.”
”Thank you for the lesson, Sir.”
”Attaboy now. N by the way, your new name is Blue. You’ll meet Red, Yellow, and Green later.”
Blue tries not to smile. First time he had a name he actually liked. “Thank you for the name, Sir.”
”You’re pretty docile, for a slave. You should teach Green some things. Boys back is always covered with stripes.”
“If you’d like me to, Sir.”

The new Master just nods. He unlocks the cage and instructs Blue to come out. Blue stands, awkwardly. His Master gives him a hand with his numb limbs and pulls him to full height. Blue keeps his eyes on the floor, but his Master cups his jaw in a frighteningly-strong hand and forces him to meet His gaze. Blue feels a knot form in his stomach when he sees his Master’s firm, grey gaze staring back at him.
“Welcome to the farm, boy. Work right, this might be your forever home.”
Blue can’t bear it any longer and drops his gaze. He tries not to give away just how hopeful he was for that to be true, though. He hated being transported and auctions gave him anxiety. He internally resolves to putting all his energy into pleasing his new Master.
“I will aspire to it, Sir.”
“Atta boy.”
The Master places his paw over the back of the boy’s neck. Alright now, let’s go get you situated and collared.”
Blue happily goes along like a tame lamb.

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Text is fictional. Source below:

torontopup:

photobylee:

“I"m going to be a very good boy.  I promise!." 

This is a new shot.

model: Tyy M

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

gayboykink:

The tender moments of submission.

Andrew gazes fondly over his prize, stroking the boy’s chestnut hair. Oliver’s not yet awake, as the drugs haven’t worn off. Andrew knows when Oliver comes to, he might be scared and flail so he keeps the ropes on for the boy’s own safety. Andrew knows once Oliver sees his face, everything will be alright. He smiles, satisfied. The deep hit to his bank account was worth it. Every penny as valuable as gold to him. He knew he was taking a huge risk hiring that shady man to kidnap his boy and steal him away, but Andrew could not bear another day knowing his boy was out of his grasp.

They had been lovers once, but when they were in college. But Oliver’s father had crippling gambling debts, and jealous of his beautiful face, sold his own son to pay off his loansharks. Andrew could not afford the cost, and could only watch helplessly as his lover was ripped from his arms and taken away. The private investigator he hired tracked Oliver to a slave work farm in upstate New York

Andrew saved for two years to acquire enough money to afford the kidnapper. It was only after Andrew received a small inheritance after the death of a grandparent was he able to hire the man. He was nearly broke now, but he would live in a barn with Oliver if he had to. The debt had been paid by the slavetraders. Andrew made a silent promise to Oliver that he would always be free, and he would always be safe. He would always be protected, and loved, because Oliver had always been – and would forever be – his beloved boy. No one would take what belonged to him ever again.

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Text is fictional.

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A slave waits patiently for the auction to start. He’s just been photographed and in a moment will be taken to the holding area. He was worried about getting an erection, as some of the other slaves have, but thankfully he’s too nervous to get it up so it just remains soft. He hasn’t seen the audience yet either, so all he can do is imagine what the men look like and what their personalities will be… and the slave wonders what they’re going to think of him too. He looks down at himself, nude and shorn. Well, if anything, he thinks, I’m a blank canvas. I hope they see my potential. I have a lot of skills. I have to remember that if I want to be valuable to someone, I have to have confidence in myself that I am valuable, even as a slave. The Headmaster barks at him to join the others in the holding area. The slave says a clear “Yes sir” and moves quickly to that direction with his head up and eyes forward. Even if I am a slave, he also thinks, there’s no shame in being in my natural place.

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Text is fictional.

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“Next up is a fine young lad of mixed stock – Germanic, Portuguese, and Algerian – aged 18 years, by name of Alec. Alec joined our Home Host Program because he recently aged out of foster care and has no where to go. What he is seeks for his two year contract through the Program is a stable home and a Master to serve under. He ideal for houseboy or fram work – cooking, cleaning, and sexual service. Alec has laid with a woman, but is a virgin with men, and will provide hours of fun exploration in bedroom settings. In exchange for Hosting Alec, he intends to take classes and learn a trade. He is open to considering renewing the contract after two years if the fit is good.

As you can see, Alec is healthy, he vaccinated, and has milky white skin from an indoor life. His penis uncut and is 4 inches soft, 7 hard. He has a strong back, and knows when to keep his mouth shut. A good investment for a newer Master or a Master getting back into keeping after a break. Master Ryes, if you could help Alec strip down to his underwear please? …Thank you. And now we will start the bidding at 400 pieces. 405? 415! Do I see 450 in the back? 450 ..450…475! 500! 510! 550!..”

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Text is fictional. In a rush, no source right now.

Note on slavery

Note on slavery

by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

So, something interesting happened yesterday. I posted a caption in the style of a fake magazine article; it was a response to a caption describing an undercover volunteer efforts to unearth poor conditions in slave holding cells. This caption was set in a world in where slavery was an acceptable way of dealing with prisoners of war or other miscreants.  

When I got home from work that night, I found two messages in my inbox. One from the guy who wrote the original caption; he loved my response so much he wanted to post it on his slavery-kink Yahoo groups. The second was from a reader who has given me permission to post his comment anonymously:

Dude, actual slavery? Most of what I’ve seen of your writing is pretty hot but submitting in a consensual setting is one thing and human trafficking and rights abuse is another. Granted what you wrote isn’t bad like op or his blog, which I mistakenly clicked on, but yeah. Sorry just…yeah.

I just wanted to address this for a moment. When most people read my stories on my Tumblr about men dominating other men, controlling their lives, their sex drives, their cocks, their bodies, etc, I am assuming you assume the situation in the caption is consensual and no one receives psychological trauma as a result. Also, every single of you probably assume every photo reblogged on Tumblr is up there with the model’s consent. Cause, it’s icky otherwise and spoils the hotness factor. This is a really thin line.

Anyone who has ever considered a specific kink or fetish or lifestyle will tell you that fantasizing about it and making it real are two very different things. Hence, why sometimes people read or write about kinks online and never practice them in real life. Sometimes it’s just not possible to replicate in real life. Sometimes the sexual thrill comes from how forbidden/impossible it is. And there’s a time to acknowledge that, maybe beat off to it, then put it aside as fiction and move on to a more logical reality.

Just because I wrote that caption about slavery, it doesn’t mean I condone or approve of forced slavery. I rarely ever write about that kink just because of all the grey area. A small portion of what I write, I write because the readers like it, not because I’m sitting here masturbating furiously. I tried something new and it didn’t work. It happens.

Also, If you noticed, I dated the fake magazine article in the future. Maybe something happens in the future that results in that system being put into place. Maybe Jack is a product of an environment that thought slavery was OK, and maybe Jack triggers a revolution that helps break down and destroy instituted slavery for more humane options. Who knows. I haven’t even bothered to address that selling prisoners of war into slavery is probably a big ol’ violation of the Geneva Convention. That caption was a moment in fictitious time when a whistleblower took action. That’s all.

Although we like to think of ourselves as progressive humans, there are now more slaves than ever. This is not OK, and never will be OK. Writing a short caption to something I found on Tumblr is in no way condoning non-consensual slavery, and should not be mistaken for such. That caption was a moment in fictitious time when a whistleblower took action.

Sorry if I offended anyone. Also should be noted that I did not read the original poster’s Tumblr before reblogging that caption.

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The buckshot scatter of freckles and bright red hair gave his origins away instantly. I ghosted the back of my fingers over his soft cheek. “Pretty boy, what are you doing so far from home?”

He cast his eyes down. “I am not pure blooded. They discarded me. No one will hire me or let me board because of stereotypes, they think I am a danger.”
“You don’t seem dangerous. You’re bonded using minimal security devices, no muzzle or harness or hood.”
“They fear that I will burn them all or set their houses on fire while I sleep.”
I give him a soft look of pity. Life is not easy for half-blooded demons in this world, especially the element ones. “So how did you end up for auction here?”
“I offered myself. I was terrified I’d be kidnapped and sold into slavery on the black market to a collector. I heard horrible things…” he trails off. “Well, at least, this way, the Society screens the bidders and I’ll go a good home. This is my third auction though, and it seems no one in society wants me at all, not even as a pet.” His shoulders sagged, and I could hear in his voice he was on the verge of tears. “I don’t know why my parents even conceived me. They should have been more careful.”
“Poor boy.” I caress his cheek again. The heat under his skin is magnetic. I can’t fathom how anyone would turn his prize down. It routinely dips below 0 in the winter. His bright hues would be a welcome sight against the whiteness of the season, and his hot thermal body would be a welcome addition to cold nights.

“I own and run a musical instrument shop and repair center. There is a lot of wood. Are you going to be a danger to my merchandise?”
His eyes search mine, unsure what I am truly asking. “No – no sir!”
“You can control it?”
“Yes,” he says, with confidence. “It is not as strong as others, because I am half-blooded, but I can control it. I don’t sneeze fire or whatever the rumors say.”
I snicker. “I heard one that says fire demons ejaculate lava.”
He screws up his face into one of annoyance. I find it charming. “That is wholly incorrect Sir.”
I chuckle. “I would hope so.” I wave over a clerk and ask for his dossier. The clerk rushes to bring me the clipboard and I peruse the documents. I read through his medical papers, making sure I’m not missing anything. “Mn I see you’re on the pill…you still experience heats? I thought that didn’t happen in half-bloods?”

He shifts, embarrassed. The chain connecting the cuffs on his feet rattles lightly. “Another untruth. If the dominant genes are human, no, if the dominant genes are from the demon parent, then yes. I was genetically screened when I joined the Society – my human genes are recessive.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I see. I appreciate your honesty, boy.”
“…Is that bad?”
“No. I think I would enjoy having you off the pill very much, though.” My hand lifts his cock and pulls back the foreskin, making sure it’s not too tight. I hum an approval.
He blushes hard.
“Clerk? Please bring me the bidding paperwork please.”

The young lad lights up. “You’re really- I mean, you want to purchase my contract?”
“I think three auctions is enough. You’re eager and beautiful and will thrive under my training in my home. I can see you would benefit from being taught some decorum, and I will fix that. I can see the ache to serve in you, to be wanted, to have a place. Plus, now I won’t have to fuss over lighting that stupid pilot light again.”

He beams and I can smell the fresh scent of roasting cedar coming off his skin. “I will not disappoint you Sir.”
The clerk brings over the paperwork and waits to guide me to a bidding counselor. I turn to leave the half-blood so I can go sit down and fill it out, but at the last moment I turn and give him a parting phrase. “All I ask is that you do not burn me. And I do mean both definitions of that word.” I leave with the clerk and let the lad ponder its meanings.

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Text is fictional. The saturation on this picture is way up, but the model’s name is redhead Oliver Dale.

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“What’s he doing?” my apprentice whispers into my ear. We’re watching the slave on webcam together.
“Mm. Adjusting to his new reality I suppose. Slave psychology is actually a rather interesting thing. They naturally respond to orders and demands in a snap, but they need some quiet moments to think and decompress during the day or else they get overstimulated.”
“Is that why you told Master Aberdeen 3:30 and put the boy in there at 3?”
“Yes. It’s his first time at auction, I don’t want to stress him out too much. He’s lucky to have attracted a potential private buyer though. Master Aberdeen has fine taste and enjoys – mmm, how should I say it? decorating his boys. Number 867 here will have a good future with him if the sale is completed.”

He squints at the webcam. “I’ll have to take your word for it Sir, I still am new to this region. Still, that’s a pretty heavy chastity device.”
“Oh yes, that. Master Aberdeen is very strict about how slaves access their own bodies… believes it’s the ultimate reward and should be off limits and coveted from day 0. ‘A horny boy is a happy boy.’ is what he likes to say. When Aberdeen comes by the office later, you should ask him over for brandy or coffee or something, I bet you could learn a lot from him.”
“Not later, he’s here,” my apprentice says, gesturing to the screen.
I smile. “Yes he is. Now watch closely, see how an accomplished Master works and tests new product.”

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Text is fictional.

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“So that was his neck, let’s see about the arms now… wow, 55 inches from shoulder to finger tip,” the doctor calls out to his assistant who jots it in the slave’s dossier. “Damn, this boy has some really long arms. He’s either headed for the orchards or to be tied to a king sized bed. Check these boxes Reginald – ‘long limbs’ and ‘might require oversized furnishing’.” Reginald did so, then patiently waited for the doctor to measure out the numbers for his waist, cock, and leg length. Having already been photographed for the catalog, the new slave was then sent on to be shaved, fitted with a cock cage and collar, and put back in the stable until evening exercise and dinner.

Long after he went home for the evening Reginald couldn’t stop thinking about that boy with the long arms, how graceful and beautiful and strong he was. Very obedient, patient. After working in this job for two years, the visual of naked men wasn’t instantly arousing as it used to be for Reginald. He was a small man though, and often fantasized about being taken advantage of by a bigger, stronger slave who had rebelled. Not that he’d tell ever anyone, of course, but the idea of being held down and jacked off by those long lean arms stayed with him for weeks.

If he saved up he could have purchased a slave like that in a couple months time, but he resided in a simple apartment in the city square. A tall, long-limbed slave was meant for Masters with land and space. Reginald was content with this. He liked to see the new meat go to good homes. In time, new boys would be paraded through the doctor’s office, and Reginald’s fantasies would have new fuel.