This story is dedicated to all the men who knew what I was before I did, and taught me to live the life I'd want to write about! If you enjoy reading Nifty as much as I'm enjoying telling my story, please make a donation to the website: http://donate.nifty.org/ Humbly, Danny. mrkonigssub@gmail.com
Chapter 10
Naked, shaved, and sore from three rough breedings, I was shoved through the door of an office at the back of the warehouse. There was a man seated at a big metal desk. He was handsome, dark-haired, and serious looking. "Leave us," he said, and I heard the guard behind me leave and close the office door. The man behind the desk stared me in the eyes. His hair was tightly cropped, an officer's cut, and his black uniform was more formal looking than that of the three guards. He continued to look at me, then raised one eyebrow slightly. I understood what he was waiting for. I knelt as I had been trained so well to do.
"Are you Mr. Gregory Konig's property?"
I responded without hesitation. "Yes, sir."
Hearing my owner's name gave me a momentary sense of focus. I needed it badly. I had been reeling from the moment Mr. Konig had said "I won't see you again for a while." In the short time since he'd said that, I'd had my room stripped bare and waited there in purgatory. I'd been taken out of my owner's home by force, handcuffed and hooded. I'd been driven to an unknown location, then shaved, hosed down, and forcefully fucked by three guardsmen. And now here I was, on my knees, not knowing what was happening to me. It was all so disorienting. I wanted to cry. I wanted to be home with my Sir.
"How long have you been Mr. Konig's property?" His voice sounded as dark and serious as his looks.
"Five... five years, sir." I was holding back sobs. Five years! It was hard to believe it was half a decade ago when I first knocked on the door at 715 Marset Street. Five years of being a live-in servant, a sex slave, and a sub.
The man got up from behind the desk. He was tall and well built, and his sharp black uniform made him look powerful and dangerous. As he walked toward me, I was mesmerized by his high black boots. They were so shiny I could see my naked, kneeling body reflected in the shins. He slowly walked around and behind me, then stopped. I didn't dare speak or turn to look at him. I could barely breathe.
"Why do you suppose Mr. Konig arranged for you to be here, boy?"
"I... I don't know, sir."
"Think hard boy."
My mind reached back to the day before yesterday, in the afternoon, in Mr. Konig's office, after I'd come home from the gym. Was that only two day ago? I remembered my Sir breeding me, lifting me off the ground to drive his ten inch cock into me. I remembered him telling me...
"He said he wanted me to get even better."
"Better at what, boy?"
"At being a sub."
"That's right, boy. You're here to become an even better piece of property for your master. Consider yourself lucky. Though we've had eyes on you for some time, very few boys qualify for training by THE BROTHERHOOD."
THE BROTHERHOOD. I looked up at the desk where the man behind me had been sitting. On the wall behind his chair hung a black flag, with a black leather design of a chain circle, the same as the patches on the guard's uniforms. In my mind flashed the image of the coin given to me six years ago by the hot Comencky men, and of the business card given to me by Mr. Dueño, just before I met Mr. Konig. That same image had been with me all these years.
"Your Sir is making a significant investment in you., Danny." The officer walked around and stood in front of me. He grabbed my chin roughly and lifted my face so that I was looking him in the eyes. They were a cold grey. They narrowed slightly and he said, steadily and quietly, "Don't let him down."
The officer walked back to his desk and opened a drawer. He took out a book with a black leather cover. It was my journal! He handed it to me.
"This is yours, Danny. It will be your guidebook during your training." I looked at him, confused. What did he mean?
"Hans!" The officer barked. The door behind me opened. I turned to look. The head guard walked in, a devilish smile on his thuggish face.
"Please take the boy to his cell."
"Sir, yes, Sir!"
Hans grabbed me under the arms and effortlessly lifted my naked body from kneeling to standing. He spun me around to face the door.
"And, Hans," the officer said from behind me.
Hans stopped. "Yes, Sir?"
"You have permission to fuck him once more before lights out. Once. Do you understand?"
I felt the beefy hand grip my neck a little harder. "Sir, Yes, Sir! Thank you, Sir!"
Hans steered me out of the office and turned to the right, heading us toward a big metal door on the warehouse wall. He opened the steel slab and pushed me through. I was holding my journal in my hands. When the door closed behind us, my eyes adjusted to the dim red light. We were in a concrete stairwell. The sound of the guard's booted steps echoed in the chamber as we descended. The concrete was warm on my bare feet, and my naked skin felt damp with sweat. We reached the bottom of the stairs, and a long hallway, lined on each side with metal doors, stretched out before us. Halfway down the hall, I could see one of the doors was open. We passed about six pairs of doors and stopped. Hans pushed me into the room.
The walls were concrete, and the room was about the same size as my quarters at Mr. Konig's house. Just like my old room there was a desk, a lamp, and a chair. The desk lamp was turned on, and I could see that there was also a bed, sheets, a pillow, and blanket. There was a small toilet and sink. But nothing else. No dresser, no clock on the desk, no small window. I wanted to cry, but I didn't want to show my emotions in front of the burly guard who still held my neck.
"I'll see you just before lights out, faggot," he said, and slammed the door. I could hear him laughing as he walked away down the hall.
I tried to open the door. It was locked. There was a small opening in the top middle of the door, a portal of some kind, but it was closed from the outside.
I was in a prison cell. I set my journal down on the desk and started to cry. What was happening to me? What did Mr. Konig want by sending me here?
I wiped my eyes on the bed sheet and lay down, trying to relax my racing mind. I had to trust my Sir. I had to believe that he wanted the best for me. Mr. Konig. I was his sub, He makes the rules. Mr. Konig. Mr. Konig. Focusing my thoughts on my Sir, I was able to drift off for a bit.
When I stirred, I sat up and decided to write in my journal. That's what Mr. Konig would want. I needed a pencil! I opened the one drawer of the small desk. There was one pencil inside! I sat down at the desk and opened the book in the lamplight to the first empty page, but to my surprise, the top of the paper was already filled in.
"TONIGHT, BEFORE LIGHTS OUT, THE HEAD GUARD CAME INTO MY CELL AND FUCKED ME HARDER AND ROUGHER THAN I'D EVER BEEN FUCKED IN MY LIFE. ALTHOUGH HE POUNDED ME BRUTALLY, I WAS A GOOD BOY. I TOOK EVERY INCH, AND AFTER HE SHOT HIS LOAD, I ____"
I read the two and a half sentences over and over, in shock and disbelief. It wasn't the content that disturbed me most. It was the fact that the handwriting was exactly like my own.
Just then, I heard a clanking sound, and the door to my cell opened. Hans walked in. In the light of my desk lamp I could see was wearing only his leather boots. His muscular body was framed by the reddish light from the hallway. He shut the cell door, and I could see that his enormous cock was once again rock hard. He stared at me with a wicked grin on his face.
"One hour until lights out, faggot," he said.