PECs Chapter seven: The Council of Six Evan Andrews ©2022
This set of stories is not a fan fiction, although it is high space opera. (So forgive the really dated terminology.) As always, though, I had a cast of faces in mind for the characters, a list of whom follows the story. Your image may differ, which is cool. This story should not be considered a true representation of the sexuality of any of the men in real life.
The story depicts males in pulp sci-fi sexual situations with other males. If this offends you, if you are underage, or if reading such is illegal where you are please stop reading now. Thank you.
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The Black Hunter docked at ShipClan Station, and things happened quickly.
The several crewmen who had been overseeing the pec slaves got reassigned to other jobs, and with no trainer present the slaves indulged themselves-- in doing anything that wasn't man-sex even if their cocks were obviously ready to spring to attention at the least provocation. Speed and Feral took advantage of the situation by retreating to a corner to speak privately.
"What now, Speed?" Feral asked as he pressed up against the muscular redhead. The brunet pec slave's face betrayed concern, even as his body urged him to do whatever it took to cum. "From what I've been able to make out, these ship guys plan to make some political capital by trading us to somebody."
"Or somebodies," Speed said.
"You don't think they plan to separate us, do you?"
"I think keeping us together is way down on their list of priorities," Speed said stoically. "Think about it, teams kept together might just plan some sort of escape."
Feral's face spoke volumes. Yes,' Speed could tell he was thinking, We ought to try to escape, but we also needed to serve the masters as suckle studs.' The extensive training had definitely screwed with Feral's priorities.
Speed let his buddy try to work it out, but in the meantime he thought about the other PEC teams he'd identified in the stable. Beach and Monkey for sure, and maybe Frog and Pitbull had been one. Bishop's advanced training exercises had left his pec slaves time to think about little beyond the cock they were sucking or getting fucked by. Things like PEC partnerships never came up, except when slave trainees were in the chairs, and even then they were distracted by having their tits sucked.
"And how could we?" Speed continued. "We don't know our way around this ship, let alone this station that we've arrived at, and we have no access to a rocket."
"Maybe one of the others has seen more," Feral suggested. "If we want to ask, it's now or never."
Turned out it was never.
Speed was about to speak up when the door to the chamber opened, and the little crewman, Pork, sauntered in leading four more pec slaves, clothed as good pec slaves ought to be-- and completely unrestrained. They obediently followed Pork to mid-room and, flanking him, fell into slave display position.
"On your feet, you lot," the crewman said to the resting men, "And meet the four pec slaves that we'd gotten perfectly trained before you lot stumbled into our traps."
Speed clambered to his feet (with Feral giving him a hand up) and fell into line to meet the new (or old) meat with an assessing eye he had not possessed five hundred hours earlier. Of course he knew the four men, or rather, he knew their faces from MIA reports circulated back at Base. PEC had given these four up for lost between four and eight months previously. Suddenly, a mathematical incongruity struck the redhead.
"Master Pork, sir," Speed said, pointing to the collar embossed with the number `14' that circled his throat, "I thought..."
"Of course you did," Pork said, "You saw that 14' and figured that fourteen PECs were all that the Black Hunter had captured. I'd bet you even assumed the captain's slaves, and mine and Beef's, were part of the inventory and figured them into the numbering system. It's a good think we don't want you for your brains. Don't they teach logic in your academy? Or strategy? Or math? Didn't it strike you that your pal Feral there should have a collar reading 13' or maybe `15', but look. He doesn't. What number are you, slave Feral?"
"Uh, `6', master Pork."
Speed started and then looked more closely at Feral's collar. Sure enough, an embossed `6' stood out against the collar's black surface.
"Why give prisoners an accurate idea of their numbers?" Pork smirked. "These pec slaves here have the numbers 1 through 4-- the first and last whose collars reflected their seniority in the stable."
"Be that as it may," Pork continued, "The captain thought you should meet (even if your association is to be short-lived) before the captains' review."
'Review', Speed thought, `That can't be good.'
"Pec slaves," Pork said, turning to face the old quartet, "Step forward and introduce yourselves.
The first slave, a little Southeast Asian who reeked alluringly of kickboxer, said, "Pec slave #1. Tie."
The second, half a head shorter than Speed, hung a proud length out of his access briefs, said, "Pec slave #2. Roan."
A muscle hunk whose body gave Freak and Beach a good run for their money (and who looked like he belonged on a bed somewhere serving as a living teddy bear) said, "Pec slave #3. Timmer."
"Pec slave #4. Cajun," the last of the four said. If you thought of the slaves as ships of the line, Speed was a battleship while Cajun was clearly a cruiser. (And that made the colonial, Pork, a destroyer, something Speed was careful not to say out loud.)
The new pec slaves, after introducing themselves, fell into place at the end of the existing line of the Black Hunter's inventory of man-flesh.
"Slave display position, now! All of you! Like the well-trained slaves you're supposed to be," Pork shouted. "I shouldn't have to tell any of you these things at this stage."
Hands went behind backs, and seventeen naked chests thrust forward.
"Hmm. Good thing Beef had the slobgoblins scrub you lot down this morning and get you some new threads."
"Good, master Pork?" Speed asked.
"Very good indeed, slave Speed, because you are shortly to be presented..."
Pork never finished what he was saying. The door to the chamber opened once again, and Bishop led seven men into the room. The line of pec slaves snapped instantly (and instinctively) to an even more military version of the slave display position, showing off their bodies to perfection. The seven proudly muscled hunks that entered all wore the trunks of free men, but in different colors (Speed recognized them as the colors of the seven ShipClans). Furthermore, all of them exuded of an air of unimpeachable authority.
"Fellow captains," Bishop said, "These are the pec slaves that the Black Clan plans on offering to the Elite."
The captains walked up and down the line of pec slaves, but instead of a simple visual once over, this lot got hands on. Intimately so. They scrutinized the slaves from every possible angle: both externally and internally. It seemed they liked what they saw.
Speed's cock, which was never far from a full chub anymore, filled out and put on an impressive show for the review—not that his fellow slaves' pieces were anything to sneer at—not even his newly introduced brothers. This display of masculine rigidity seemed to please the captains, who, Speed assumed, clearly had high expectations of pec slave stock.
The captain in blue trunks said, "And which of these are the four you're keeping for your private use, Bishop? They all look worth a good rodding."
"Ah," Bishop said, "I'll introduce those four to you later, Caber, but I'm not planning on keeping any of these choice studs. Every last one of them is going to be offered to the Elite."
"Wait," the big Indian in green trunks said, surprised, "You're keeping four?!"
"That's right, Taj. The Black Hunter caught twenty-one, and I made an executive decision to hold out two for my own enjoyment and one each for my senior officers, Pork and Beef," Bishop said, "That still left seventeen for the Elite to dicker over, a number I assumed would be adequate, especially with six more ships contributing to the show. Of course, I expect my slaves will enchant the Elite and all end up chosen. On the off chance any don't please the Council of Six, or the Fathers of the Senate, or the Royal Creche, well, I'm prepared to take them back to the Black Hunter to serve the crew."
"Really?" the Mexican in yellow trunks said. "Interesting, because I thought we had agreed that unchosen stock would go straight into the ShipClans' common trading pool. That was the resolution passed at the last convocation of clans. Or am I mistaken?"
"Of course. Of course. You're right, Eagle," Bishop said, testily. "The common trading pool, to be used as currency to advance the common causes of the ShipClans. That's what I meant to say."
The burly blond in red trunks, who seemed still caught up on the previous question, said, "Do you suggest that we follow your example, Bishop? Skim the cream of our pec slaves off the top to keep for personal use and send the rest to the Elite?"
"Not knowing what your take was, I leave that decision to you, Pops," Bishop said, as he ushered the captains towards the door of the chamber. (Caber took a last appreciative feel of Speed's rod before bringing up the rear.) "Just so long as we all remember that supplying the Royal Creche must take priority. The true pick of the lot should be held for His Highness and the Blood Royale. Then the Council of Six get their pick, and finally the Fathers of the Senate. If I read your numbers correctly, we have more than enough to cover that—presuming, of course, that the Elite recognize and accept that they may choose only one pec slave apiece. In fact there's no reason for any of the Elite to know that not every ounce of slave flesh was made available to them. So, unless any of you plan to spill your guts to the flatlanders."
"Forfend!" the captain in brown trunks said.
That's it,' Speed thought, catching Feral's distraught eye as the door shut behind Bishop, They really are going to sell us like animals to the highest bidder. And soon.'
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It was only few hours later that Bishop returned after the captains' tour of the various pec slave stables, and ordered his own stable to fall in before him.
The Black Hunter's seventeen available pec slaves fell in and assumed display position.
"Gussy them up," Bishop said to the attending slobgoblins.
The cyborgs swarmed around the slaves, giving them a quick touch up to the cleaning they'd all had a few hours earlier.
"Now, fall in, two by two, and follow me."
Bishop turned, and his servile regiment followed him into the grandeur that was ShipClan Station.
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Bishop led the party, of course. And proudly.
Behind him strode his stable of pec slaves, two by two. Though they were heading off to be sold like beasts, the former warriors strutted, proudly putting on a show of their bodies, something the staff of the station appreciated. Pec slaves were a novelty (well, Terran pec slaves that was), and everybody appreciates a parade. Speed and Feral brought up the rear, with Pork and Beef flanking them. Feral was impressed by the sheer number of people they passed, but Speed was more impressed by the station's profligate use of open space. Terran stations were economical in that regard, stingy even. Here there were so many corridors, and chambers, and lifts, and then more corridors! Speed was entirely lost long before they got to their destination.
"Where're we going," the redhead whispered to Beef.
"The Hall of the Clans. That might well be the last you ever see of space, so you should make the most of it. Now, shut your mouth."
If the bulk of ShipClan Station was larger and roomier than any comparable Earth space station, the Hall of the Clans was unimaginably vaster than any chamber Speed had ever seen in space. A great transparent dome, of the same material that formed the Black Hunter's bridge, crowned the Hall permitting an unimpeded view of the naked stars. The hall itself was circular, divided into eight sections. In the middle, in another wide circle, stood seven large seats in the shape of captain's chairs, though decidedly grander. Each chair was identified by clan color: black, white, red, yellow, green, blue, and brown, and they stood each before one of the bays, framed by arches the keystone of which matched the color of the throne in question. The Hall declared that this was a ShipClan place, and you came here only by their sufferance.
In the bays, slobgoblins had erected corrals to hold each clan's pec slave herd in one place and keep any of them from wandering. Bishop and his party, the first to enter as befitted the oldest ShipClan, headed for the black chair. The blond captain stood in front of the black chair while his officers secured the pec slaves in their corral. After that, in order of seniority, the other clans entered, each captain followed by his officers and stable of pec slaves.
"Gentlemen," Bishop said when the other captains stood before their chairs and their pec slaves had been corralled, "Our first order of business regards our noble Prince. The staff has set up a separate corral in the eighth bay for the cream of our stables, the two pec slaves apiece that we think best suited to serve the Royal Creche. So, shall I start by nominating my pair?"
"Go ahead," Caber said cavalierly, and Bishop had his seventeen enslaved PECs step forward.
"From what we saw during our tour, I think we can all agree that Earth has, in general, done itself proud with the slave fodder they've sent our way," Bishop said. Bishop's smile reminded Speed of Honest Greeb, a used repulsor speeder salesman he'd once dealt with on the Ramses Colony.
"I can vouch for that," Caber said, and he rubbed at his crotch, kneading the tumescent shaft that had raped every one of his pec slaves down before their real training had begun. The four that he had most enjoyed reducing to sniveling pieces of flesh he had kept for his continued enjoyment, but he still had brought fourteen well-trained pec slaves to the party.
Doing his best to ignore the blue captain's vulgarity, Bishop continued, "Every single one of my slaves is overflowing with top-grade Vril, but I think the two standouts are the most recently acquired, slave Feral and slave Speed. Slaves, step forward."
Speed and Feral, surprised but pleased to be singled out, left the line-up and walked to the center of the circle of captains. Assuming display position, the pair endured a second bout of scrutiny.
"Visually," the brown captain said, "They're fine. Are you sure about their output, though?"
"I have the quality analyses here, if you don't trust my judgment," Bishop said, reaching for the datapad Pork held out to him, "But you could just take a quick suck and judge their quality for yourself."
Speed was not at all surprised when every single captain, after reading the report, converged on his and Feral's bodies. One at a time, they suckled at one or the other of Speed's tits before switching over to try Feral out. Speed was reminded of gathering of snooty wine connoisseurs, except that none of this lot spat his Vril out.
"Gentlemen?" Bishop said when the captains had finished.
"I accept your judgement," the captain in white trunks said.
"Thank you, Toro. Any dissent?"
"Can we just get on with it," red-trunked Pops interrupted, and Bishop, figuring out which four specimens Pops had held back, understood his impatience.
Smiling, he said, "Fine. Pork, take these two to the Reserve corral."
"The what..?" Speed whispered when Pork ushered him and Feral to the corral in the eighth bay. (Beef was returning the other fifteen to their own clan corral.)
"The Reserve. Don't you ever listen? This is the holding pen for pec slaves that will be offered to the four ranking members of the royal house: Roc, the Prince; Rom, the Prince in Waiting;, and Jay and Jim, the two Bloods Royale to forestall your next question. Each clan is submitting their two best pec slaves for royal consideration. They may take one of the two of you, or both, or neither. It all depends on the royal whim. Now, watch the rest chosen, stay put, and keep your mouth shut."
One by one the captains presented their choices for the Reserve. Speed had no idea what criteria the captains were using to make their choice. He guessed it was something to do with the slaves' Vril potential, but he realized that his new mates were also a visually impressive lot. A smorgasbord of what Earth and the Empire had to offer in terms of man flesh, and all up to the rigorous standards PEC demanded of its warriors.
Once the fourteen Reserve slaves had been sequestered, the captains took their seats, and, flanked by their officers, resumed their air of uncompromising authority. Speed almost asked what they were waiting for, but he realized that Pork was standing by Bishop now, and none of the other slaves in the Reserve could possibly know the answer. Instead, the redhead waited, as patiently as a man can when he's waiting to be sold and his balls are screaming for release.
A gong sounded, and Bishop said, grandly, "Brother captains, rise and do honor to the Council of Six, advisors to and most loyal servants of His Highness the Prince of Colonia Prima."
The great doors opened, and a body of six men, in their own way as impressive as the captains, strode in as if they owned the place.
`Ballsy lot,' Speed thought.
These newcomers wore bi-colored trunks, in richer colors than the ShipClans used, and calf-high sandals instead of the more utilitarian boots that were common on the ships. The colors of the trunks met in a swirl that drew attention to the bulges in their trunks. They bore no insignia save for a coil of gold that circled their upper right arms several times. The captains and officers all bowed, and, except for Bishop, they offered their seats to the newcomers. Bishop, as the ranking clan head (and, Speed assumed, functional prince of the rocket men) stood by his empty chair, and one by one the other captains fell in on either side of him.
"Councilors," Bishop said gravely, "The Captains welcome you to ShipClan Station."
The six councilors seated themselves and looked disdainfully at the rocket men. Arrogant as fuck, each of the councilors wore authority like a garment, but even Speed could make out that these men could be sorted by what look was on their faces. Half were threatening (as befitted the War Faction though Speed had no way of knowing that was who they were), and the others accommodating (as befitted the Homeland Faction).
"Councilors, you honor us with your presence. This day we have assembled stables of fully trained Terran pec slaves. It would please us greatly if you were to take the choicest among them to serve you."
"Pec slaves?" the councilor in burgundy and gold trunks said. "These? All of them?"
"Yes, councilor Battle, we fit each of them upon capture with an Id Tap in order that they might serve the elite of the State as fonts of Vril."
"So, you're tell me that you kept not a single captive for the Council to interrogate?" Battle pursued.
"Councilor Battle, the captains consulted and determined that such measures were not necessary," Bishop said, "We of the ShipClans may not be so skilled as certain others in the arts of interrogation (`He means torture,' Speed thought), but we have found that the Id Tap affords the skilled interrogator a tool just as reliable as physical coercion when it comes to the extraction of information. The pec slave you choose today, you may torture to your heart's content, naturally, but I believe that by simply denying that slave any and all sexual release you will in short order be able to get any information you want out of him."
"You realize it was presumptuous to assume you had the right to make that choice," Battle sneered.
Wow,' Speed thought, Great way to win friends. But maybe that's the point.'
"Councilor Battle, I beg you forgive your servants in the ShipClans. Our training and experience inclines us not to waste any resource."
"Hmpf, perhaps. And what about those off to the side there?" Battle asked, pointing at the Reserve corral. "Are they available for interrogation?"
"Those pec slaves, councilor, constitute the cream of our stocks. The Captains decided to hold them to offer exclusively to the Prince and the Royal Creche. I'm certain the learned councilors would agree that the royal family deserves nothing but the best."
Speed could tell (Well, to be fair, subtlety was not Councilor Battle's forte and for Bishop to use subtlety would be lost on the arrogant cock) that the Council, and especially Battle, wished they had had the option of taking the first pick of the pec slaves, leaving the Prince with nothing but their cast offs. (Even though the cast-offs would still have been impressive specimens of manhood.) It appeared that politics operated here just as they did in the history books Speed had read.
"Give it a rest, Battle," a blond councilor in green and gold trunks said. "The Royale Creche must, of course, come first. Be thankful that the noble captains didn't put the Senate ahead of the Council of Six."
"You're too soft, Slab," Battle said, "But I suppose if that's where things stand, then let the pec slaves at our disposal disport themselves before us that we may determine the best of the lot."
The pec slaves from the seven clans walked into the center of the hall. Speed recognized many of those from outside the Black Hunter by name and knew most of the rest by face, but even if he had been building a census of the missing today, the hormonal storm in his body would have made compiling such a list, let alone remembering it, next to impossible. Instead he watched as the men got down to doing what they did second best (the best being giving suck). Dozens of good-looking, horny men descended on each other's bodies and proceeded to besmirch their PEC honor by committing acts of the grossest and most indecent intimacy. Speed (and every other slave in the Reserve corral) was hard in half a second.
The arrogant councilors (even the Homeland faction had an air of condescension on their faces) watched the demeaning orgy proceed for maybe a quarter of an hour. Then at a nod from Battle, they rose and circulated among the fornicating pec slaves to separate the grain from the chaff. One at a time, or in groups, slaves found themselves dismissed from further consideration until only a couple of dozen remained. Speed, curious in spite of the id warring in his body, tried to ascertain what criteria dictated the councilors' choices, but it eluded him. He was clearly not yet sufficiently well versed in the appreciation of male bodies; they all looked more or less the same to him. Each councilor now had four strapping Terran males standing before him, and the master studs put their potential slaves through an thorough examination, including sucking on their tits. Clearly connoisseurs of Vril, the councilors reduced their choices to two men each. And finally, to one.
Speed saw that Battle had chosen Nitro (who had been a Blue clan trained slave). Hammer chose Ronin (from the White clan). Whip settled on Stars (captured and trained by the Brown clan). Cage decided on another Irishman, Swagger (from the Yellow clan). Raptor scooped up (literally) little Spirit (taken and broken by the Green Hunter). And Slab, for all that he was the peacemaker designate, seemed pleased with his choice of the Mexican, Saint (from the Red clan).
The councilors took joy in stripping their new slaves of their clan-color slave briefs and collars. In place of those garments, each chosen pec slave was fit with an anodized metal cock-ring of the same two colors as their new masters' trunks. (Collars engraved with the pec slaves' names would be supplied later, Speed guessed.) Once fitted up, the all-but-naked pec slaves came to stand beside their new masters when the latter returned to their chairs.
None of the chosen pec slaves, as things worked out, had worn the briefs of the Black clan, leaving Speed curious about the unfathomable politics of the colony's pec (and sexual) slavery. The redhead wondered what the councilors would have said if they knew that where they would be leaving with a single pec slave, the captains would be going home to tight little harems. The captains had mentioned nothing about it, nor would they, there being no love lost between the clans and the Council.
Station staff, human and slobgoblin, removed the unchosen pec slaves to holding cells elsewhere on the station (to be presented to the Fathers of the Senate the next day, though none of them realized that), and a formal banquet began. The captains, in a display of humility, acted as servers to whichever councilor was sitting in their chair. Bishop kept his place throughout the selection process since Black was the oldest and therefore preeminent among the ShipClans. He acted the consummate host and when the banquet began, called on his noble guests to enjoy the fruits of the State's colonial empire. The food, while exotic, was still hearty, not delicate, and it smelled delicious. Speed had not been fed for hours, so he felt his stomach growling at the enticing scents. In spite of the provocation, though, he managed to hold slave display position throughout the meal.
Occasionally, one of the Council's newly chosen pec slaves was pulled forward to give suck to his new master. The kind masters (like Slab) sucked the slave to orgasm—not something that took a lot of time given how worked up the Id Taps had left them. The stern ones (like Whip) went out of their way, it seemed, to leave their slaves worked up to the point of tears. Speed felt for them.
The meal ended with an insincere ritual of respectful leave-taking, and the councilors' pec slaves followed them out, with only a glance back to the captains who had taught them how not to be warriors anymore. (Caber was rubbing an erection as he watched Nitro's naked ass led away.)
"Well," Bishop said, once the door had shut and the room had been swept for flies on the wall, "That went better than I expected."
"Did you hear their talk?" Pops asked, "If the War Faction isn't working on the Prince trying to move him to attack the Terran Empire, then I'm a slobgoblin."
"Let's earnestly hope that His Highness' sense of strategy and love for his people proves greater than his ego," Boone said.
"And that he can recognize a suicidally bad idea when he hears it," Taj said. "I have no desire to take my rocket into battle and risk the lives of my kin in a pointless war."
"With luck, hot mouths and asses and tits overflowing with Vril will distract them," Caber said.
The leaders of the Clans parted ways and returned to their rockets, leaving the Reserve slaves behind to be taken to their own special holding area by station staff. The Reserves dropped onto couches that lined the room and spent the down time telling their stories. These were all depressingly similar, except for the way that each clan introduced a captured warrior to pec slavery. Caber, they found out, really did rape each and every one of his prisoners up the ass in the middle of his bridge, multiple times, before sending him to the Training Suite. Eagle did much the same, except that he employed specialty-designed fucker slobgoblins to rape down his captives. Pops handed prisoners into the tender (or not so tender) hands (and cocks) of his crew. Toro, on the other hand, followed Bishop's example, as did Taj and Boone—bringing the PECs off first and then consigning them to the sucking devices.
In the end, Speed mused, they all ended up as pec slaves, so did it really matter how they got there?
Possible cast:
Colonials: Pork, Drake Maverick (WWE); Bishop, Triple H (WWE)
Captains: Toro, Andrade (WWE) ; Daddy, Brian Pillman (wrestler) ; Sonny, Brian Pillman Jr. (NXT) ; Eagle, Emperador Azteca (wrestler) ; Taj, Jinder Mahal (WWE) ; The Bollywood Boyz (wrestlers) ; Caber, Drew McIntyre (WWE) ; Boone, Mark Jindrak (wrestler)
Council of Six: Battle, Bautista (wrestler) ; Hammer, Alex Hammerstone (MLW) ; Whip, Bobby Lashley (WWE) ; Cage, Brian Cage (wrestler) ; Raptor = Luchasaurus (AEW) ; Slab, Test (WWE)
Terrans: Speed, Sheamus (WWE) ; Feral, Finn Balor (WWE) ;
Stable slaves (mostly wrestlers): Beach, Kerry von Erich ; Dar, Naom Dar ; Freak, Rob Terry ; Frog, Eddie Guerrero ; Maple, Petey Williams ; Monkey, Vikas Kumar ; Pitbull, Will Ferrara ; Rex, Tyler Reks ; Sable, Seth Rollins ; Java, Osteen Brown ; Tie, Rodtang Jitmuangnon ; Roan, Ronnie Pearl ; Timmer, Tim Rawlins ; Cajun = Matt Sydal
Council of Six's slaves: Nitro, John Morrison (WWE) ; Ronin, Kenta Kobayashi (wrestler) ; Stars, Jamie Varner (MMA) ; Swagger, Conor McGregor (MMA) ; Spirit, Ariel Dominguez (MLW) ; Saint, Santos Escobar (wrestler)