Odessa Ranch 13
The gavel came down for the last slave. The evening had been lucrative-if he had been going for cash: just over half a million dollars. Two buyers bought two slaves each, the remaining eleven went to eleven separate buyers. The dozen buyers who left empty handed were given standing invitation for the next one. As the buyers presented their checks to Sam, he made them sign an agreement. The agreement said that Sam would have the right of first refusal if the buyer became disenchanted with the slave or otherwise decided to let him go. In that event, Sam wouldn't take them back; he would take the money they accrued while at the ranch and the money from their sale and let them go with a decent nest egg.
New Duties
Buck had to admit that the auction was a success. He was hoping against hope that it wouldn't be. He was getting a bit fatigued of chatting with folks online and now he was going to have to do it more. For every one person on the ranch, he chatted with between fifty and 100 less enthusiastic 'slaves' or total pretenders. Now his duties included not only trying to find permanent slaves for the ranch, but temporary ones who would be trained here then sold. Very different people, very different questions and expectations. His largest task, at least to him, was a reevaluation of how the ranch operated and how it would have to be restructured with the influx of temp slaves.
He had no trouble deciding on who would help him, but he did give serious thought as to how it would work. The ranch promises to be brutal, painful, sexually unfettered and those components play into why each slave chooses to come. If he were to take a field slave and bring him into the office for good, that slave would be going entirely to waste-from Sam's and from the slave's perspectives. So Buck decided to divide the duties. For now it would be a week in his office, a week in the field for the two he wanted. If that caused too much burnout he would throw in two more if he could scare up that many he trusted with this delicate job.
A hand called Adam came to fetch Dax. Dax could think of no reason why he would be taken to Buck's; he had been having some stomach problems and maybe he was supposed to see a doctor. It isn't at all uncommon for slaves to forget such mundane things as trips to the doctor. If they get a cold, they just work through it, on the occasion that it is the flu, the trustees let Buck know and the slave sees a doctor that day. It is very rare that a slave actually asks to see one (when he does it is never ignored however). Trustees usually keep a good eye on their slaves, so they almost always start the process themselves.
Seth was already standing at attention in Buck's office when Dax arrived.
"You two aware that we had an auction here a couple of days ago?" Buck asked?
Each slave uttered a quick yes sir.
"Well the man himself liked it and has decided to make it a regular thing . . . ." Buck paused because the same look of horror struck Dax and Seth simultaneously. "Don't worry boys, those who were sold chose it for themselves, we aren't making you take your place on the block if you don't want to. He's making it a regular affair and that means some changes here at the ranch. It means serious changes for the recruitment since we will now be recruiting different folks. We'll still be doing the ones like you, the ones who want to stay, but he also wants us to recruit those who would prefer to be trained and sold." He paused again to let the two calm down a little.
"So I'm going to be needing help since my duties doubled. You are going to share the load between you. I figured it wouldn't be fair to have one of you do it all since it would mean no time in the fields with your brothers. You two are by far the most qualified slaves here for what I need, but I will give you the ability to refuse. If you would rather go back to the fields to stay, you can with no penalty."
Seth was clever and streetwise, Dax was clever and intelligent. Each slave wasn't exactly getting bored with life as a field slave, but when the opportunity was presented to add some variety to their days, that portion of their personalities wouldn't allow them to refuse.
"Dax, you want to go back to the fields to stay?"
"Sir no sir."
"Seth?"
"Sir no sir."
"Ok, it will be a week on a week off. If I see you getting burned out I'll add another to the mix, but for now I think this will work. I'll flip a coin for it, I know both of you would claim to be tails if I asked, but for this, Seth is heads, Dax is tails." It was tails. "Seth you come back next Monday . . . I'll send Dax to get you when it's your turn." He sometimes had to remind himself that he was the only person on the ranch for whom the day of the week actually meant anything.
"Sir yes sir." Seth headed back to his spot in the corn.
"Dax, I won't have you running around my office like that. For one thing, you stink. Go take a shower in the honeyroom and come back when you're cleaned up."
"Sir yes sir."
Dax went to the building where just a few months before he had undergone the rapid inurement to the life on the ranch. He took a quick shower while watching the six honeyboys. Once they individually concluded (though it looked collective considering that they all concluded at the same time) that Dax wasn't likely to use any of them, let alone all, they went back to dozing. Dax vaguely remembered that it didn't take too long to learn to sleep kneeling as they did; they would all find a way to relax into the bonds that kept them nearly motionless-except for the pressure on the knees, it wasn't that far removed from a cot really. He remembered how, after just a couple of days he kind of lost the physical cue of when he needed to piss and shit, these things just happened on their own since there was no pressure to hold it at all-in truth it takes all slaves about three days to relearn that effectively after leaving the honeyroom. His shower lasted no more than five minutes; his memories of the place were still too raw for him to want to stay, even considering he was no longer chained in the trough.
He returned to Buck's office clean. Buck ordered him to a closet that was full of the clothes the slaves came to the ranch with-there weren't that many jeans left because that is how the hand's 'uniforms' are realized. Buck instructed him to find a jock to use as his uniform for his new duties. The instruction was vague, just to get out a jock to wear while doing his new job. But any vague instruction usually came with a whipping after the slave believed he completed it. If the slave didn't perform as expected but not expressed, he could get just a severe a beating as if he had simply fucked up an explicit task. Dax fretted. He narrowed the search to three: one lose, one tight, one very used one that was more holes than not. He decided comfort would be best to start with-from his experience, Buck was more easy-going in person than he presented online. Buck made no comment and Dax began to adjust to wearing clothes he wasn't required to shit in.
"I'm still going to do the main recruiting of the long term slaves, it is your task to chat with guys who want to be trained, then sold. I've created an AOL screenname, a Yahoo chat account for now. As needs arise, we will add more. You think you can handle that?"
"Sir yes sir."
"You have to understand something Dax, you have to pretend to be a master here. I guess that part will take a little while to learn. At this point, I am far more interested in your abilities to weed out the pretenders. This job isn't particularly fun, but it does give you a bit of a break."
"Sir I think I can pretend to be a master sir, I've seen enough of them at work for the past several months sir."
"I have no doubt you will do your best boy. If you run into any problems or questions, let me know. Otherwise, you are pretty much on your own. I expect you to be online from most of the afternoon until pretty late, so your sleep schedule is going to be fucked up. You'll be sleeping on the floor next to the desk. I don't care if you take naps during short periods, but make sure you wake up when you get a message."
"Sir yes sir."
"Buddylist anyone you think is serious, I'll get that information from time to time and chat with them myself before a final decision is made."
It took Dax's fingers a couple of hours to remember how to type; a few more before they became at all effective. He sat in a very comfortable chair chatting online with those like he was when he sought out the ranch, and those who pretended to be.
Middle Passage
Once the slave had been sold, he was taken behind the auction block and put into the holding pen. The slaves did not see as their purchasers wrote the checks and signed the contract with Sam-they were entirely unaware of the contract. Once that was taken care of, the owners went to the pen to collect their property. Some had made arrangements to stay the night and leave in the morning-the slaves were to be housed in the pen while their new owners slept in one of Sam's guest rooms. Noah made no arrangements, he had what he wanted and had no desire to socialize any further with the other buyers.
Buck performed a bit of a ritual for the few slaves that were leaving that night; naturally it would be repeated for the ones leaving in the morning. He unlocked their iron collars (the leather ones had been removed without ceremony when the iron ones were locked into place); then he unbuckled the wrist restraints and required the slaves themselves to remove the ones at their ankles. It was the first time this happened for them in a very long time. Then Buck gave the owners a couple of hanks of old rope.
Mal stood without restraints and collar for the first time in over a year. It wasn't that he felt naked, that metaphor works only when the person is accustomed to or requires clothes; he felt exposed, unprotected in a sense. The pink and irritated flesh created 5 two and a half inch stripes that stood out in a sickly manner against the deep tan of the rest of the body. Noah took the shorter of the two pieces of rope and tied Mal's wrists together behind his back. He quickly fashioned a quick slip noose in the longer of the pieces of rope to act as a quick, crude collar and lead.
Noah led, and sometimes roughly dragged, his new purchase to his SUV. Mal, naked, owner of nothing, responsible for nothing other than following his master's orders, was no longer hard. He had spent so much time hard since the beginning of the inspection period, that he went into the near permanent state of semi-hard and painful. His cock was very red, his balls moving quickly to the deep purple of very painful blue balls.
The Bronco was parked a bit over a mile from the auction site. During the ten minute walk, neither Noah nor Mal said anything. Noah didn't need to explain anything to his slave yet. He would give the slave a couple of orders and a little information when they got to his Bronco. Mal was trembling with a desire to ask questions.
It had been over a year since he had been focused only on one man and that man's idiosyncrasies. He knew he not only could handle it, but would prefer it. He was very excited. He knew better than to ask, he knew the punishment would likely be severe, so he used this 'enforced' silence as a good sign that this master was experienced and powerful enough to challenge him.
They got to the white Bronco and Noah unlocked the back to reveal an iron cage. The cage was made of riveted walls of solid iron with a couple of slits at the top of two walls. Noah unlocked the cage and helped Mal into it. As you could imagine, there would be no way for him to get comfortable. It was about three and a half feet cubed. Mal wouldn't be able to stretch out; he wouldn't be able to lie on his side without causing serious pain to a shoulder; and lying on his back would cause serious pain in several joints. So only kneeling on the unforgiving floor of the cage was the way he would have to travel. He had no idea how far they were going; his excitement would have been quickly vitiated if Noah told him it would be a trip of over a thousand miles.
"You piss and shit in there, I'm not letting you out, but you will be fed and watered when I stop." He spoke without haste or gruffness. He was a master who would command by strength not by volume of his voice, Mal concluded.
"Sir yes sir."
Time and distance only have real meaning when someone has instruments or recognizable change. Mal could see nothing and hadn't had a watch of any kind for longer than he could remember. He knew his knees were beginning the dull ache he knew from being caged before; he knew the stabbing sensation would start relatively soon, followed by the muscle spasms that would run from the middle of his thighs to the tip of his toes, followed finally by a nauseating numbness if he were left in it long enough. He knew the cage was cold and he shivered nearly as much from that chill as from the excitement of his new existence. His focus now was on his knees. He knew the best thing to do was to find one acceptable position and stick with it as long as possible. Movement reset the pain cycle and just extended the misery.
Much of this kind of slave's life is waiting and boredom. Anticipation and fear make up another large chunk of the slave's existence. The rest, and it is a small portion, involves action. A good master knows how to keep his slave on his toes, always a little on edge which changes the proportion in favor of anticipation and fear. Noah could give lessons to lesser masters on this talent. Noah knew the pain versus motion dialectic. On the interstate, where he spent most of the early part of the journey, he would switch lanes quickly to throw off Mal's balance, so he wouldn't really be able to stay motionless enough to mitigate the pain.
Noah took I20 out of Odessa to I10, driving towards El Paso. He was adding a couple hundred extra miles to the trip. The longer he spent on the road, the greater the potential of running into a policeman. It was a risk he was willing to take to give his slave a good, early indication of how his life would progress. He had his slave, he paid handsomely for him, he wanted to savor the whole process and not just rush home to play. He was rock hard and had been for some time. He could and would do something about it soon, but for now he wanted to delight in his horniness as he would a fine glass of wine.
Mal could do nothing about his horniness. One of his earlier masters was in the process of training him to shoot his load without touching his cock, but he left the master before learning how to do it. If the 'master' hadn't been unacceptable in nearly every other way, Mal would probably have felt a strong regret. As it was, he was left with a semi-rigid member so sensitive to pain at the moment, that small jerks in the motion of the vehicle left him wincing. He was now constantly dribbling a runny goo of piss mixed with precum. He had been denied a squirt for so long, his prostate had enlarged to a point where normal pissing wouldn't be possible-this was nothing new to him, or to any slave properly treated, but it was nonetheless agonizing.
Noah hit a drive-thru for burgers. He knew from talking to Sam what was in the slaves' normal diet. He figured that something as greasy and fatty as a road burger and fries would cause Mal some additional discomfort of potential cramps, gas, and worse. He ate his on the way to a rest stop. He couldn't leave his truck unattended for long, that was too much of a risk at three AM. So he jerked off quickly into a paper cup, the load was enormous and even a little painful for him.
In the truck, he mashed up Mal's burger and fries and put them into the slave's feeding bowl. The opened the feeding door of the cage (it was on the wall facing forward). He ordered Mal to stick his head through; it took half a minute for Mal to maneuver. He grunted and gasped while doing it-Noah knew then for certain his driving tactic had been successful.
"Lick this clean first slave." He held the cum-filled cup for his slave to lick.
Mal devised from the tone that no response from him was necessary but to follow the order. The cum was salty and bitter and cold. Cold cum was nasty and thicker and seemed to linger longer on and down his tongue. He stuck his tongue as deeply into it as he could and cleaned it as well as he was able. "Sir thank you sir."
Noah then held the food bowl for Mal. "Eat this quickly faggot, I want to get back on the road." Again he complied wordlessly.
What Sam called slave chow, what the slaves just called eats, was nearly all Mal had eaten since joining the ranch. It was a mushy substance that contained all they would need in some form or other. It was an oatmeal base with powered protein and some powered vitamins. In addition, other things would be added from time to time, chopped up or pureed vegetables and meat on occasion. There were enough calories and enough of the standard necessities to keep the bodies functioning well, not just adequately. It was mostly bland, but filling and it served its purpose well. Now he was eating the easy staple of the standard American; he was eating it mashed up from a bowl, but still. . . . The surprise on his tongue of this new-old taste outweighed the pain he felt in general, at least for a little while. Noah let him suck water through a straw until he was sated. Then he began heading home in his wayward manner.
It took about fifteen minutes for the gastric war to start. He began having small cramps, then larger ones. The gas moved upward and downward. He burped and farted uneasily given his bound position. The smell was awful to him.
The smell was Noah's signal that he had been correct about what the food would do to Mal. He opened a couple of air fresheners and put them between the cage and the driver's seat-this was the first line of defense (he had a back up plan if the smell got too much for him). He was willing to deal with the smells because it indicated to him the extra level of humiliation his new slave was going through. Mal might be familiar with the situation in general, but he knew he wouldn't have been through it since leaving the honeyroom.
This was new for Mal. In the honeyroom, the room itself was large enough for the smells to dissipate. They were also hosed down once a day. When he had been caged in the past, he was never in this sort of box and never for nearly as long as he had been so far. He knew he had to shit, but had no idea how much longer until he was going to be let out of his cage. He held it for as long as he could, sweating against the cramps. Finally he couldn't stop the inevitable. Mal shifted his weight forward and upward as much as he could and just relaxed his bowels and let them take care of themselves. The pressure in his gut immediately reduced to none. He was glad of that at least. He shit for the first time near mile 400, just over a third of the way to his new home.
The sun rose as they continued. They were in the higher desert of New Mexico heading northward. Mal's ears popped, so he could guess he was heading higher, but that told him very little. The temperature in the truck was increasing with the heat of the desert morning. Soon it would become all but intolerable in the cage. As it stood, Mal was sweating heavily. Things were made slightly better when Noah opened a window for a breeze; at least a little air moved through the slits in his cage. Noah had no intention of using his air conditioner.
He checked often to see if Mal needed water, and to see if he were still responsive. The amount of water loss he was going to have trapped in that cage was going to be very significant. Noah didn't want to ruin his new slave before he had a chance to use him. Mal didn't ask for anything, but responded each time his master asked him. He was watered very often and fed two more times before making it home. Each time he was fed it was under harsh orders because he really wasn't hungry and didn't want to add to the smell that was his uneasy companion.
The smell was getting worse for Noah as they left Denver heading towards Glendevey, but they didn't have that far to go. The smell told both men the same thing from opposite perspectives. Mal was an abject slave. He couldn't even do the simple task of being able to remove himself from his own waste, his own stink. All possible mansmells except vomit were married in his cage and escaping in greater quantities as the trip progressed.
When he got to Gould, Noah called a friend, Scott, to let him know he was approaching home. Scott was going to help get the cage out of the truck-given the volume of waste in it, Noah wasn't going to open the cage while it was still in the truck. But more than that, Scott was a master-in-training. For the first couple of days he was going to watch Noah in action with a permanent slave, and get a little practice himself. Noah's goal was to recruit or train a couple of other masters who would then get slaves. He wanted to build his own little commune of masters and their abject pieces of property.
Scott showed up at Noah's place a little early. Noah had two hundred acres right on the Laramie River just south of Glendevey, Colorado. The house was unremarkable. The land itself had a small tributary creek running through a section of it and was covered with trees. Scott was going to watch Noah break the slave in to the way Noah did things, then that slave would help Scott build his house on Noah's plot. Scott would train as a master while he and Noah looked for a permanent slave for him.
Noah drove up a few minutes after Scott arrived. He backed the truck up to a concrete slab near the basement door. The cage itself weighed about 250 lbs, the slave inside weighed about 190. The two men slid two steel poles through rings on the sides of the cage. They pulled it out roughly, but set it down carefully-they wanted to begin with the slave right now and not have to wait for knees to heal, which was the likely outcome of dropping it. Mal grunted and groaned for the ten minutes it took for them to get the cage safely on the slab.
Interrogation
Noah opened the door to the cage and ordered Mal out. Mal scooted out as quickly as he could, finally just falling onto the slab when he cleared his head of the cage. It was near twilight, but he really didn't notice, nor did he notice the other man. He noticed he could breathe air of a comfortable temperature that was mostly free of the smell of his body. Noah cut the ropes from Mal's neck and wrists.
"You have two minutes to stand at attention slave."
"Sir yes sir," Mal said with a very hoarse voice. He looked as badly as you could imagine. His hair was plastered to his head his legs were smeared with shit. He was and looked exhausted as it had been about 30 hours since he had had more than very tiny and nearly useless naps.
He struggled to gain his balance as his tight muscles fought him at every motion. Given how severe the trip here was, he didn't want to know what would happen to him if he failed to comply with the order. Two minutes meant nothing to him, especially since Noah was giving him no indication of how much of it remained. He was finally able to do it, but not with full stability.
"Scott, get the hose." Noah said. Scott got the hose and turned it on Mal. Mal jumped a bit as the cold water stung wherever it was aimed. Scott made sure Mal's legs were shit free before turning the hose off. Mal had nearly lost his balance a few times during the three minute wash down. He was pleased to be free of the majority of his stink and stood there dripping, almost smiling.
"Hands behind your head, legs spread apart . . . a little farther apart. Good. This is your position when a master is in your presence and you are not otherwise ordered."
"Sir yes sir." This was not new territory.
"Follow Master Scott, he will get you ready for what's next."
"Sir yes sir." He followed Scott on shaky legs, hands still behind his head as he had not been ordered otherwise.
Scott was nearly the same size as Noah. He was a couple of years older and a few pounds lighter, but height and general stature were essentially the same. He had been Special Forces in the Army and they met through a veteran's group. Scott led Mal to the middle of the basement/dungeon. There didn't appear to be that much in the way of equipment, just a rack of some sort and a stand-up cage. Above where Scott had him stop though was a chain and hook attached to a pulley.
"Kneel faggot."
"Sir yes sir." He knelt, again keeping his hands behind his head.
Scott slipped Mal's new collar in place, buckled and locked it. Then he took two lightly padded wrist restraints and buckled them in place, then attached them with heavy but short chain. Mal began to feel protected again, right away. When Scott attached the chain, he walked away to tend to the pulley. He kept an eye on Mal though to see what would happen. The slave returned his hands to the back of his head. Scott was impressed but pissed, since he expected to get a few licks in before Noah's interrogation started. Scott lowered the hooked chain so that it was at eye level for the kneeling slave. He returned to Mal and hooked the chain between his wrists to the hook. He ratcheted the chain up quickly until Mal was nearly off the floor. He could only keep himself from swinging by keeping his feet fully stretched, only the tips of his longer toes touched the floor. He then went to let Noah know the slave was ready.
"This is your interrogation scum. Since I assume you have sort of been taught your place, right answers get you two lashes, wrong ones 10." Noah spoke the instructions calmly, but with gravity. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a pair of boots-Scott stripped off his shirt to match his mentor.
"Sir yes sir!"
"What are you?"
"Sir a slave sir!" The two lashes across his ass for the right answer were not pretend. The force of the flogger across his slave's ass sent him swinging lightly.
Noah walked around to the front of his slave. Mal's legs were close together because it was the only way to stop himself from swinging. Noah took Mal's cock in his hand and moved his legs out of the way to free the swollen balls. Mal gasped and yelped.
"What is this slave?"
"Sir your cock and balls sir!" Mal half hissed through a clinched jaw which was followed by two lashes across the small of his back.
"This?" Noah asked after shoving three, dry fingers up Mal's hole?
"Sir your asshole sir!" These lashes went from neck to crack of his ass. His fear was at a pitch he hadn't felt in half a lifetime for the 20 year old slave. His heart was pounding. Keeping painful time with his heart were the strained shoulder joints and his bluer balls.
Noah pulled his fingers out which was more painful than when they went in, but that sort of pain comparison is academic for a strung up slave. He walked back around to show his fingers, spottily covered in shit, to his slave.
"What's this on my fingers, scum?"
"Sir your shit sir!" This was the wrong answer. The lashes for a wrong answer were not only greater in number, but they were harder too.
"Try again faggot, what's on my fingers?"
"Sir slave shit sir!" Two lashes, this time across his chest.
"Clean them." Noah stuck his soiled fingers into his slave's mouth and felt the tongue thickly move around his fingers. He pulled his fingers out of his slave's mouth and waited a couple of beats. Then he laid ten more lashes on his slave's shaking and sweaty body.
Mal couldn't think of what he had done wrong. He licked his sour shit from his master's fingers. He wasn't given a command or a question to answer. The early excitement was now all but gone, he was extremely tired and in pain from tip to toe. He would gladly bargain anything to get just a short nap, but he had nothing to bargain as all of it, except his shit he supposed, belonged to the man torturing him. He realized then that he had forgot a basic form of protocol.
"Sir thank you sir!"
"What kind of slave are you?"
His fear went to a new level. The lashes he got were hard enough that his nose was running and he was drooling and pain tears oozed from his eyes. This was a trick question. He had been asked the question before and knew it was intended to give the master an unnecessary excuse. When he had been asked it in the past, the masters were not confident enough in their abilities with the lash to do more than just sting him. Noah knew what he was doing and Mal could do nothing to stop what was about to happen.
"Sir your slave sir!"
Ten lashes. Noah repeated the question. Mal responded that he was a worthless slave: ten more. A cocksucking slave, a piece of shit slave, a pig slave, all were wrong answers. Blood was trickling down his back in a dozen places from his shoulders to the backs of his knees.
"Sir I don't know sir!" He wasn't crying, but his breath was so short and the snot so thick it sounded like it. He got ten more lashes.
"Sir whatever you want me to be sir!" This was a cop out answer, he thought. He braced for lashes again, but it stopped at two.
"Let him down, Scott." Noah said, and Mal heard the chain clicking and clanging as he descended. His legs were rubbery and he didn't bother to try to stay erect. He crumpled, finally collapsing when Scott removed the wrist chain from the hook.
Scott rubbed some anti-bacterial ointment on Mal's back. It probably stung, but he was beyond feeling something as mundane as that. He panted and drooled as the feeling came back to his shoulders.
"On your knees slave." Noah kicked his slave's ass.
"Sir yes sir!" He rose up quicker than he thought he would be able to and put his hands behind his head.
"Come over here and suck me off faggot!"
"Sir yes sir!" He walked on his knees over to his master and finally got to see the specific thing to which he was enslaved. It was ten inches of uncut master. He had little trouble taking his master's shaft all the way down. Noah was very impressed, expecting the slave to choke at least once. He came faster than he wanted. He was extremely pleased in his choice of slaves-this one had found a way to use his tongue around his cock even when Noah thought there wouldn't be any more room in his slave's mouth for that muscle to maneuver,
Scott ordered Mal to the stand up cage. He bound Mal's hands outside the bars so he couldn't jerk off. It was entirely unnecessary, Mal was too tired to perform that task. He was asleep before Scott had the cage locked.
Meanwhile . . .
Dax finally went to sleep at about 2am. The first day he spoke to about 35 different people. Most were looking for jerk off talk-he had done it himself at times and knew how to recognize it quickly. Half a dozen were somewhat interesting with a couple of them being compelling enough to buddylist. It wasn't an easy job, but it was a bit more interesting than tending corn. However, telling the same story over and over again to those online would get tedious at some point. For now he was enjoying it.